
ClassI2S^-5-0D 

Book ^A^r 

A OJ 

By bequest 01 

William Uikens Shoemaker 



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THE 

W ORES 

OF 

GRAY. 



•ultum et verse gloriae, quamvis uno libro, meruit. 

Quinctilian. 



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LONDON: 
Printed by Thomas Davison, Whitefriars. 




Princed for F. C.k .l.Rivtnor<m,k rJis orhw fivp 
August tS,j8tL 



TMOJM^LS &ItnY, 




' AW.TVarren. Ji 



LONDON. 
frinud for F. C. and I.-Rivington. , 
and the otktr fropriavrs^ug? 26. 
1321. 



THE 

WORKS 

OP 

THOMAS GRAY; 

Containing his 

POEMS, AND CORRESPONDENCE WITH SEVERAL 
EMINENT LITERARY CHARACTERS. 



To which are added, 

MEMOIRS 

OP HIS 

LIFE AND WRITINGS, 
BY W.MASON, M. A. 



Z O ND O N: 

Printed for F.C. and J. Rivington; J.Nunn; Cadell 
and Davies; Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and 
Brown; G. andW. B. Whittaker ; J. Richardson; 
J. Walker; Newman and Co.; Lackington and 
Co. ; Black, Kingsbury, Parbury, and Allen ; 
Black, Young, and Young; Sherwood, Neely, 
and Jones ; Baldwin, Cradock, and Joy ; J. Ro- 
binson ; E.Edwards; Simpkin and Marshall; 
R. Scholey ; and G. Cowie. 

1821. 






Ry 



-Tift. "S. 

W. L. Shoemaker 
7 S '06 



CONTENTS, 



Ode 1. On the Spring . . . page 1 \, 

2. On the Death of a favourite Cat . 3 ^~ 

3. On a distant Prospect of Eton Col- 

lege . . . 5 V-~ 

4. To Adversity . . 9 *-" 

5. The Progress of Poesy . . 11 •— 

6. The Bard . ... 17 - 

i 7. For Music . . . .25 

— — 8. The Fatal Sisters . . . 30 ^- 

Q. The Descent of Odin . . . 34 

10. The Triumphs of Owen . . 38 

11. The Death of Hoel . . 40 

Sonnet on the Death of Mr. West . . 42 

Epitaph 1. On Mrs. Clarke . . 43 

2, On Sir William Williams . 44 

Elegy written in a Country Church-yard . 45 w 

Additional Poems, not in Mr. Mason's Edition. 

Verses on the Marriage of the Prince of Wales 53 
Song . . . . .56 

The Inquiry . . , .57 

Tophet : an Epigram , . .58 

Impromptu, suggested by a View of the Seat and 
Ruins of a deceased Nobleman, at Kingsgate, 
Kent . , .59 

The Candidate; or, the Cambridge Courtship 60 
Sketch of his own Character , , .62 



Poems addressed to, and in Memory of, Mr. Gray. 
Upon his Odes, by David Garrick, Esq. . 65 



vi CONTENTS. 

Ode on the Back wardn ess of Spring . page 66 
On the Death of Mr. Gray . . .68 

Another; by Lord Carlisle . ; .71 

Lines to the Memory of Mr,* Gray, by Mr. 

Mason . . . . .74 

Fragment on the Death of Mr. Gray . . 77 

Stanzas on the same Occasion, by a Lady . 81 
The Tears of Genius . . . .83 

Epitaph on his Monument in Westminster Abbey, 

by Mr. Mason , . . . 8tf 



MEMOIRS.— SECTION L 

Introduction. — Mr. Gray's birth. — Education at 
Eton, where he commences a friendship with the 
Hon. Horace Walpole, and Mr. Richard West. — 
Account of the latter, with whom and with Mr.. 
Walpole a correspondence begins on their leaving 
school, and going to the university . . 91 

Letter 1. From Mr. West. — Complains of his 
friend's silence . . . 96 

Letter 2. To Mr. West.— Answer to the former.-^- 
A translation of some lines from Statius . 97 

Letter 3. From Mr. West.— Approbation of the 
version. — Ridicule on the Cambridge collection 
of verses on the marriage of the Prince of 
Wales . . . . . !" 



Preface of the Editor to the subsequent letter 101 



Letter 4. To Mr. West. — On the little encourage- 
ment which he finds given to classical learning at 
Cambridge. — His aversion to metaphysical and 
mathematical studies . . .1 



CONTENTS. vii 

Letter 5. From Mr. West. — Answer to the former, 
advises his correspondent not to give up poetry 
when he applies himself to the law page 104 

Letter 6. To Mr. Walpole. — Excuse for not 
writing to him, &c. . . . 106 

Letter 7. From Mr. West. — A poetical epistle ad- 
dressed to his Cambridge friends, taken in part 
from Tibullus and a prose letter of Mr. Pope 107 

Letter 8. To Mr. West.— Thanks him for his 
poetical epistle.— Complains- of low spirits.— 
Lady Walpole's death, and his concern for Mr. 
H. Walpole . . . .112 

Letter 9. To Mr. Walpole.— How he spends his 
own time in the country. — Meets with Mr. 
Southern, the dramatic poet . .113 

Letter 10. To Mr. Walpole. — Supposed manner 
in which Mr. Walpole spends his time in the 
country . . . . .115 

Letter If. From Mr. West. — Sends him a trans- 
lation into Latin of a Greek epigram . 116 

Letter 12. To Mr. West.— A Latin epistle in an- 
swer to the foregoing . . . 1 17 

Letter 13. From Mr. West, on leaving the Uni- 
versity,, and removing to the Temple . 119 

Letter 14. To Mr. West.— A Sapphic Ode, occa- 
sioned by the preceding letter, with a Latin post- 
script, concluding with an Alcaic fragment 120 

Letter 15. From Mr. West.— Thanks for his Ode, 
&c— His idea of Sir Robert Walpole . 122 

Letter 16. To Mr. Walpole. — Congratulates him 
on. his new place. — Whimsical description of the 
quadrangle of Peter-House . . 123 

Letter 17. To Mr. West. — On his own leaving the 
University . . 125 

Letter 18. From Mr. West. — Sends him a Latin 
Elegy in answer to Mr. Gray's Sapphic Ode 126 



Short narrative concluding the Section • 128 



CONTENTS. 



SECTION 1L 



Connecting Narrative. — Mr. Gray goes abroad with 
Mr. Walpole. — Corresponds, during his tour, 
with his parents and Mr. West . page 129 
Letter 1. To his Mother.— His voyage from 
Dover. — Description of Calais. — Abbeville. — 
Amiens. — Face of the country, and dress of the 
people . . , .130 

Letter 2. To Mr. West. — Monuments of the kings 
of France at St. Denis, &c. — French Opera and 
music. — Actors, &c. . • . 133 

Letter 3. To Mr. West.— Palace of Versailles. — 
Its gardens and water-works. — Installation of the 
Knights du S. Esprit . . .136 

Letter 4. To his Mother.— Rheims. — Its cathe- 
dral. — Disposition and amusements of its inha- 
bitants ..... 139 
Letter 5. To his Father — Face of the country 
between Rheims and Dijon. — Description of the 
latter. — Monastery of the Carthusians and Cis- 
tercians . . . 14fi 
.Letter 6. To Mr. West.— Lyons.— Beauty of its 
environs. — Roman antiquities . . 143 
Letter 7. From Mr. West. — His wishes to accom- 
pany his friend. — His retired life in London.— 
Address to his Lyre, in Latin Sapphics, on the 
prospect of Mr. Gray's return . . 145 
Letter 8. To his Mother. — Lyons. — Excursion to 
the Grande Chartreuse. — Solemn and romantic 
approach to it. — His reception there, and com- 
mendation of the monastery . . 147 
Letter 9. To his Father. — Geneva. — Advantage of 
a free government exhibited in the very look of 
the people. — Beauty of the lake, and plenty of 
its fish . # . 149 



CONTENTS. ix 

Letter 10. To his Mother. — Journey over the 
Alps to Turin. — Singular accident in passing 
them. — Method of travelling over mount Cenis 

page 151 

Letter 11. To Mr. West. — Turin Its Carnival. 

— More of the views and scenery on the road to 
the Grande Chartreuse. — Wild and savage pro- 
spects amongst the Alps agreeable to Livy's de- 
scription . * 154 

Letter 12. To Mr. West Genoa.— Music— The 

Doge. — Churches and the Palazzo Doria . 157 

Letter 13. To his Mother.— Paintings at Mo- 
dena. — Bologna. — Beauty and richness of Lorn- 
bardy 159 

Letter 14. To his Mother. — The Apennines- 
Florence and its gallery . .161 

Letter 15. To Mr. West. — Journey from Genoa 
to Florence. — Elegiac verses occasioned by the 
sight of the plains where the battle of Trebise 
was fought . . . .164 

Letter 16. From Mr. West. — Latin Elegy, ex- 
pressing his wishes to see Italy and Greece 165 

Letter 17. To his Mother — Death of the Pope.— 
Intended departure for Rome. — First and pleasing 
appearance of an Italian spring . .166 

Letter 18. To his Mother.— Cathedral of Sienna. 
— Viterbo.— Distant sight of Rome.— The Tiber. 
— Entrance into the city. — St. Peter's. — Intro- 
duction of the Cardinal d'Auvergne into the 
Conclave . . . . .167 

Letter 19. To his Mother. — Illumination of St. 
Peter's on Good Friday, &c. . . 1710 

Letter 20. To Mr. West. — Comic account of the 
palace of the Duke of Modena at Tivoli.— The 
Anio. — Its cascade.— Situation of the town. — 
Villas of Horace and Maecenas, and other re- 
mains of antiquity. — Modern aqueducts. — A 
grand Roman ball . . .1712 

Letter 21. To Mr. West.— An Alcaic Ode.— Lu- 
dicrous allusion to ancient Roman customs. — 



x CONTENTS. 

Albano and its lake,— Castle- Gondolfo. — Pro- 
spect from the palace : an observation of Mr. 
Walpole's on the views in that part of Italy. — 
Latin inscriptions, ancient and modern page 176 

Letter 22. To his Mother.— Road to Naples. — 
Beautiful situation of that city. — Its bay. — Of 
Baiae, and several other antiquities. — Some ac- 
count of the first discovery of an ancient town, 
now known to be Herculaneum . .180 

Letter 23. To his Father. — Departure from Rome 
and return to Florence. — No likelihood of the 
Conclave's rising. — Some of tlie cardinals dead. 
— Description of the Pretender, his sons, and 
court. — Procession at Naples. — Sight of the 
king and queen. — Mildness of the air at Flo- 
rence . ... 183 

Letter 24. From Mr. West. — On his quitting the 
Temple, and reason for it . . 18.1 

Letter 2d. To Mr. West. — Answer to the foregoing 
letter. — Some account of Naples and its envi- 
rons, and of Mr. Walpole^s and his return to 
Florence ... . . 187 

Letter 26. To his Mother. — Excursion to Bologna. 
— Election of a Pope ; description of his person, 
with an odd speech which he made to the car- 
dinals in the Conclave . . . 196 

Letter 27. To Mr. West— Description in Latin 
hexameters of the sudden rising of Monte 
Nuovo near Puzzoli, and of the destruction 
which attended it . . . . 192 

Letter 28. To his Father.— Uncertainty of the 
route he shall take in his return to England. — 
Magnificence of the Italians in their reception 
of strangers, and parsimony when alone.— The 
great applause which the new Pope meets with. 
— One of his bon mots . .197 

Letter 29. To his Father. — Total want of amuse- 
ment at Florence, occasioned by the late Em- 
peror's funeral not being public. — A procession 
to avert the ill effects of a late inundation. — 



CONTENTS. xi 

Intention of going to Venice. — An invasion 
from the Neapolitans apprehended. — The inha- 
bitants of Tuscany dissatisfied with the govern- 
ment . . . . page 198 
Letter 30. To Mr. West.— The time of his de- 
parture from Florence determined. — Alteration 
in his temper and spirits. — Difference between 
an Italian fair and an English one.' — A farewell 
to Florence and its prospects in Latin hex- 
ameters. — Imitation, in the same language, of 
an Italian Sonnet .... 200 



Aocount of Mr. Gray's return home, and of his 
second visit to the Grande Chartreuse, where he 
wrote an Alcaic Ode, which concludes the 
Section ... . 203 



SECTION III. 

Prefatory narrative. — Mr. Gray's father dies, and 
the year after he returns to Cambridge, and 
takes a degree in civil law ; during that in- 
terval he corresponds with Mr. West . 206 



Letter 1. From Mr. West.— His spirits not as yet 
improved by country air. — Has begun to read 
Tacitus, but does not relish him . 209 

Letter 2. To Mr. West. — Earnest hopes for his 
friend's better health, as the warm weather 
comes on. — Defence of Tacitus, and his cha- 
racter. — Of the new Dunciad. — Sends him a 
speech from the first scene of his Agrippina ib. 



xii CONTENTS. 

The plan, dramatis personae, and all the speeches 
which Mr. Gray wrote of that tragedy in- 
serted .... page 211 



Letter 3. From Mr. West. — Criticism on his 
friend's tragic style. — Latin hexameters on his 
own cough . . . .221 

Letter 4. To Mr. West. — Thanks for his verses. 
— On Joseph Andrews. — Defence of old words in 
tragedy ..... 223 

Letter 5. From Mr. West. — Answer to the former, 
on the subject of antiquated expressions . 227 

Letter 6*. To Mr. West.— Has laid aside his tra- 
gedy. — Difficulty Of translating Tacitus . 230 

Letter 7. From Mr. West.— With an English 
Ode on the approach of May . .231 

Letter 3. To Mr. West.— Criticises his Ode.—Of 
his own classical studies . . 233 

Letter 9. From Mr. West. — Answer to the fore- 
going .... 235 

Letter 10. To Mr. West. — Of his own peculiar 
species of melancholy. — Inscription for a wood 
in Greek hexameters. — Argument and exordium 
of a Latin Heroic Epistle from Sophonisba to 
Massinissa . . . . ib. 



Account of Mr. West's death. — Of Mr. Gray's En- 
glish poetry, written about this time, with the 
general plan, argument of the first book, and all 
the parts which the author finished of a Latin 
didactic poem, • De Principiis Cogitandi' 240. 



CONTENTS. 



SECTION IV. 

Prefatory narrative. — Mr. Gray takes his degree in 
civil law, and makes Cambridge his principal 
residence for the rest of his life. — The editor of 
these Memoirs becomes acquainted with him in 
the year 1747. — He corresponds with Dr. Whar- 
ton and several other persons till the year 176*8, 
when he is appointed Professor of Modern Hi- 
story . ... page 252 

Letter 1 . To Dr. Wharton, on taking his degree 
of Bachelor of Civil Law . , . 255 



Fragment of an Hymn to Ignorance . . 257 



Letter 2. To Dr. Wharton. — Ridicule on Uni- 
versity laziness. — Of Dr. Akenside's poem on 
the Pleasures of Imagination . . 259 

Letter 3. To Dr. Wharton. — His amusements in 
town.— Reflections on riches. — Character of Ari- 
stotle ..... 261 

Letter 4. To Mr. Walpole. — Ridicule on Cibber's 
Observations on Cicero.— On the modern Platonic 
Dialogue. — Account of his own and Mr. West's 
poetical compositions . . . 263 

Letter 5. To Mr. Walpole. — Criticisms on Mr. 
S pence's Poly metis .... 266 

Letter 6. To Mr. W T alpole. — Ludicrous compli- 
ment of condolence on the death of his favourite 
Cat, inclosing an Ode on that subject , 269 

Letter 7. To Dr. Wharton Loss by fire of a 

house in Cornhill. — On Diodorus Siculus. — M. 
Gresset's Poems.— Thomson's Castle of Indolence. 
—Ode to a Water-Nymph, with a character of 
its author . • . . 270 



xiv CONTENTS. 

Letter 8. To Dr. Wharton. — More on M. Gresset. 
— Account of his own projected poem on the alli- 
ance between government and education p. 272 



Fragment of that poem, with a commentary, notes, 
and detached sentiments relative to it . 275 



Letter 9. To Dr. Wharton.— Character of M. de 
Montesquieu's L'Esprit des Loix , . 287 

Letter 10. To Dr. Wharton.— Account of books 
continued.— Crebillon's Catilina. — Birch's State 
Papers — Of his own studies, and a table of Greek, 
chronology, which he was then forming . 288 

Letter 11. To Dr. Wharton. — Ludicrous account 
of the Duke of Newcastle's installation at Cam- 
bridge. — On the Ode then performed, and more 
concerning the author of it . . 290 

Letter 12. To his Mother. — Consolatory on the 
death of her sister » . . 291 

Letter 13. To Dr. Wharton Wishes to be able 

to pay him a visit at Durham. — On Dr. Mid* 
dleton's death. — Some account of the first vo- 
lumes of Buffon's Histoire Naturelle . 293 



Narrative of the incident which led Mr. Gray to 
write his Long Story. — That poem inserted, with 
notes by the editor, and prefaced with his idea 
of Mr. Gray's peculiar vein of humour . 295 



Letter 14. To Dr. Wharton.— On the ill reception 
which the foregoing poem met with in town 
when handed about in manuscript, and how 
much his Elegy in a Country Church-yard was 
applauded . ... 305 

Letter 15. To Mr. Walpole.— Desires him to give 
his Elegy to Mr. Dodsley to be printed imme- 
diately, in order to prevent its publication in a 
magazine 3'C6 



CONTENTS. xv 

Letter 16*. To Dr. Wharton.— Of Madame Main- 
tenon's Character and Letters. — His high opinion 
of Iff. Racine.— Of Bishop Hall's Satires, and of 
a few of Plato's Dialogues . page 307 

Letter 17. To Mr. Walpcle.— Concerning the in- 
tention of publishing Mr. Bentley's designs for 
his Poems. — Refuses to have his own portrait 
prefixed to that work „ . . 308 



Farther account of those designs, with stanzas 
which Mr. Gray wrote to Mr. Bentley on that 
occasion .... 310 



Epitaph on Mr. Gray's aunt and mother in the 
church-yard of Stoke-Pogis . .312 



Letter 18. To Mr. Mason.— On the death of his 
Father . . . .313 

Letter 19. To Dr. Wharton.— On Strawberry- 
Hill. — Occasional remarks on Gothic archi- 
tecture .... 315 

Letter 20. To Dr. Wharton. — Objection to pub- 
lishing his Ode on the Progress of Poetry singly. 
— Hint of his having other lyrical ideas by him 
unfinished . . . . 3 16 



Explanation of that hint, and a fragment of one of 
those lyrical pieces inserted . .318 



Letter 21. To Mr. Stonhewer. — Of Monsignor 
Baiardi's book concerning Herculaneum. — A 
poem of Voltaire. — Incloses a part of his Ode en- 
titled the Bard . . . 324 

Letter 22. To Dr. Wharton.— On his removing 



xvi CONTENTS. 

from Peter-House to Pembroke-Hall, — His notion 
of a London hospital. — Of Sully's Memoirs.— 
Mason's four Odes . . page 326 

Letter 23. To Dr. Wharton. — Of his own indo- 
lence.— Memoirs of M. de la Porte and of 
Madame Staal. — Intention of coming to town 328 

Letter 24. To Mr. Mason. — Of his Reviewers.— 
Offers to send him druidical anecdotes for his 
projected drama of Caractacus . . 330 

Letter 25. To Mr. Mason. — On hearing Parry 
play on the Welch harp, and finishing his Ode 
after it. — Account of the old ballad on which 
the tragedy of Douglas was founded . 33% 

Letter 26. To Mr. Hurd.— -On the ill reception his 
two Pindaric Odes met with on their publica- 
tion ..... 334 

Letter 27. To Mr. Mascm. — His opinion of the 
dramatic part of Caractacus . . 336 

Letter 28. To Mr. Mason. — Dissuading him from 
retirement. — Advice concerning Caractacus.— 
Criticisms on his Elegy written in the Garden 
of a Friend.— Refusal of the office of Poet Lau- 
reat . ... . 341 

Letter 29. To Dr. Wharton. — Account of his pre- 
sent employment in making out a list of places 
in England worth seeing . . 344 

Letter 30. To Dr. Wharton. — On the foremen- 

tioned list. — Tragedy of Agis Various authors 

in the last volumes of Dodsley's Miscellany. — 
Dr. Swift's four last years of Queen Ann . 345 

Letter 31. To Mr. Stonhewer. — On infidel writers 
and Lord Shaftesbury . , . 347 



A paper of Mr. Gray inserted, relating to an im- 
pious position of Lord Bolingbroke . 349 



Letter 32. To Dr. Wharton— On the death of his 
son, and an excuse for not writing an epitaph 353 



CONTENTS. xvii 

Letter 33. To Mr. Palgrave.— Desiring him to 
communicate the remarks he should make in his 
tour through the North of England page 355 

Letter 34. To Mr. Mason. — Some remarks on a 
second manuscript copy of Caractacus . 357 

Letter 35. To Mr. Palgrave. — Description of Mr. 
Gray's present situation in town, and of his 
reading in the British Museum . . 359 

Letter 36. To Dr. Wharton. — On employment. — 
Gardening. — Character of Froissart. — King of 
Prussia's Poems. — Tristram Shandy . 360 

Letter 37. To Mr. Stonhewer. — On the latter vo- 
lumes of M. d'Alembert and the Erse Frag- 
ments ..... 363 

Letter 38. To Dr. Clarke. — His amusements with 
a party on the banks of the Thames. — Death of 
a Cambridge doctor. — More of the Erse Frag- 
ments ..... 366 

Letter 3Q. To Mr. Mason. — On two Parodies of 
Mr. Gray's and Mr. Mason's Odes. — Extract of a 
letter from Mr. David Hume, concerning the au- 
thenticity of the Erse poetry . . 368 

Letter 40. To Dr. Wharton. — On his employ- 
ments in the country. — Nouvelle Eloise. — FingaL 
-^Character of Mr. Stillingfleet . . 371 

Letter 41. To Mr. Mason. — More concerning the 
Nouvelle Eloise. — Of Signor Elisi, and other 
Opera singers . ... 373 

Letter 42. To Mr. Mason. — On his expectation of 
being made a residentiary of York.— Recovery 
of Lord * * from a dangerous illness. — Reason 
for writing the Epitaph on Sir William Wil- 
liams ..... 375 

Letter 43. To Dr. Wharton. — Description of 
Hardwick. — Professor Turner's death. — And of 
the peace .... 377 

Letter 44. To Mr. Mason. — On Count Algarotti's 
approbation of his and Mr. Mason's poetry. — 
Gothic architecture. — Plagiary in Helvetius, 
from Elfrida . . .378 



xviii CONTENTS. 

Letter 45. To Mr. Brown. — Sending him a mes- 
sage to write to a gentleman abroad relating to 
Count Algarotti, and recommending the Erse 
Poems .... page 387 

Letter 46. Count Algarotti to Mr. Gray* — Compli- 
mentary, and sending him some dissertations of 
his own . ... 388 

Letter 47. To Dr. Wharton.— On Rousseau's 
Emile . . . . 389 

Letter 48. To Mr. Palgrave. — What he particu- 
larly advises him to see when abroad . 391 

Letter 4<J. To Mr. Beattie.^— Thanks for a letter 
received from him, and an invitation from Lord 
Strathmore to Glamis . . . 396 

Letter 50. To Dr. Wharton. — .Description of the 
old castle of Glamis, and part of the High- 
lands ..... 397 

Letter 51. To Mr. Beattie. — Apology for not ac- 
cepting the degree of doctor, offered him by the 
University of Aberdeen . . . 405 

Letter 52. To Dr. Wharton.— Buffon's Natural 
History. — Memoirs of Petrarch. — Mr. Walpole 
at Paris. — Description of a fine lady . 407 

Letter 53. To Dr. Wharton. —Tour into Kent. 
— New Bath Guide. — Another, volume of Buf- 
fon . . .409 

Letter 54. To Mr. Mason.-- — On his wife's 
death ..... 411 

Letter 55. To Mr. Beattie. — Thanks for a manu- 
script poem. — Mr. Adam Ferguson's Essay on 
Civil Society. — A compliment to Lord Gray 41 2 

Letter 56.— To Mr. Beattie.-^On the projected 
edition of our author's poems in England and 
Scotland. — Commendation of Mr. Beattie's Ode 
on Lord Hay's birthday , . 414 

Letter 57. To Mr. Beattie. — More concerning the 
Glasgow edition of his Poems . . 41Q 

Letter 58. To the Duke of Grafton Thanking 

him for his professorship . .418 

Letter 59» To. Mr. Nicholls.— Account of Mr. 



CONTENTS. xix 

Brocket's death, and of his being made his suc- 
cessor in the professorship . page 419 
Letter 60. To Mr. Beattie.— On the same sub- 
ject . . . .420 



SECTION V. 



Enumeration of such other literary pursuits of Mr. 
Gray as were not sufficiently dilated upon in the 
preceding letters . . . . 422 



Letter 1. To Mr. Nicholls On the death of his 

uncle, Governor Floyer, and advising him to 
take orders ..... 430 

Letter 2. To Mr. Nicholls. — Congratulating him 
upon his situation, and mentioning his own Ode 
on the Installation of the new Chancellor 432 

Letter 3. To Mr. Beattie.— His reason for writing 
that Ode .... 435 

Letter 4. To Dr. Wharton — A journal of his tour 
through Westmoreland, Cumberland, and a part 
of Yorkshire .... 437 

Letter 5. To Dr. Wharton.— Description of Kirk- 
stall-Abbey, and some other places in York- 
shire ..... 464 

Letter 6. To Mr. Nicholls — Of Nettle-Abbey and 
Southampton .... 466 

Letter 7. To Mr. Beattie On the first part of 

his Minstrel, and his Essay on the Immutability 
of Truth.— Stricture on Mr. D. Hume . 468 

Letter 8. To Mr. How.— On receiving three of 
Count Algarotti's Treatises, and hinting an error 
which that author had fallen into, with regard 
to the English taste of gardening , ,471 



xx CONTENTS. 

The manner in which the count rectified his mis- 
take .... page 473 



Letter 9. To Mr. How. — After perusing the whole 
of Count Algarotti's works in the Leghorn edi- 
tion, and his sentiments concerning them . 474 

Letter 10. To Mr. Nicholls.— On the affection 
due to a mother. — Description of that part of 
Kent from whence the letter was written . 477 

Letter 11. To Mr. Nicholls Character of Froia- 

sart and other old French historians. — And of 
Isocrates . . . . 478 

Letter 12. To Dr. Wharton.— Of his tour taken 
the year before to Monmouth, &c. — Intention of 
coming to Old Park. — And of his ill state of 
health . . . 480 



Conclusion, with the particulars of Mr. Gray's 
death. — His character by another hand, and 
some annotations on it by the editor . 481 



Imitations, variations, and additional notes 493 



GRAY'S POEMS. 



ODE I. 

ON THE SPRING. 



LO ! where the rosy-bosom' d Hours, 

Fair Venus' train, appear, 
Disclose the long-expecting flowers, 

And wake the purple year ! 
The Attic warbler pours her throat, 
Responsive to the cuckoo's note, 
The untaught harmony of spring : 

While, whisp'ring pleasure as they fly, 

Cool Zephyrs through the clear blue sky 
Their gather'd fragrance fling. 

Wherever the oak's thick branches stretch 

A broader browner, shade ; 
Where'er the rude and moss-grown beech 

O'er-canopies the glade, 
Beside some water's rushy brink 
With me the Muse shall sit, and think 
{At ease reclined in rustic state) 

How vain the ardour of the Crowd, 

How low, how little are the Proud, 
How indigent the Great ! 

B 



2 GRAY'S POEMS. 

Still is the toiling hand of Care : 

The panting herds repose : 
Yet hark, how through the peopled air 

The busy murmur glows ! 
The insect youth are on the wing, 
Eager to taste the honied spring, 
And float amid the liquid noon : 

Some lightly o'er the current skim, 

Some show their gaily -gilded trim 
Quick-glancing to the sun. 

To Contemplation's sober eye 

Such is the race of Man : 
And they that creep, and they that fly, 

Shall end where they began. 
Alike the Busy and the Gay 
But flutter through life's little day, 
In fortune's varying colours drest : 

Brush'd by the hand of rough Mischance, 

Or chill' d by Age, their airy dance 
They leave, in dust to rest. 

Methinks I hear in accents low 

The sportive kind reply : 
Poor moralist ! and what art thou ? 

A solitary fly ! 
Thy joys no glittering female meets, 
No hive hast thou of hoarded sweets, 
No painted plumage to display : 

On hasty wings thy youth is flown ; 

Thy sun is set, thy spring is gone — 
We frolic, while 'tis May. 



GRAY'S POEMS. 



ODE II. 



ON THE DEATH OF A FAVOURITE CAT, 
Drowned in a Tub of Gold Fishes. 

'TWAS on a lofty vase's side, 
Where China's gayest art had dyed 
The azure flowers, that blow; 

Demurest of the tabby kind, 

The pensive Selima reclined, 
Gazed on the lake below. 

Her conscious tail her joy declared; 

The fair round face, the snowy beard, 

The velvet of her paws, 

Her coat, that with the tortoise vies, 
Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes, 

She saw ; and purr'd applause. 

Still had she gazed ; but 'midst the tide 

Two angel forms were seen to glide, 

The Genii of the stream : 

Their scaly armour's Tyrian hue 
Through richest purple to the view 

Betray'd a golden gleam. 

The hapless Nymph with wonder saw : 
A whisker first and then a claw, 
With many an ardent wish, 

She stretch'd in vain to reach the prize. 

What female heart can gold despise ? 
What Cat's averse to fish ? 



I, GRAY'S POEMS. 

Presumptuous Maid ! with looks intent 

Again she stretch'd, again she bent, 

Nor knew the gulf between. 

(Malignant Fate sat by, and smiled) 
The slippery verge her feet beguiled, 

She tumbled headlong in. 

Eight times emerging from the flood, 

She mew'd to ev'ry wat'ry God, 

Some speedy aid to send. 
No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirr'd : 
Nor cruel Tom, nor Susan heard. 

A Fav'rite has no friend ! 

From hence, ye Beauties, undeceived, 

Know, one false step is ne'er retrieved, 

And be with caution bold. 

Not all that tempts your wand'ring eyes 
And heedless hearts, is lawful prize ; 

Nor all, that glisters, gold. 



GRAY'S POEMS. 



ODE III. 



0ISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE. 



AvQpu)7rog IxowY) TrpoQuaig elg to BvtTTvyhv. 

Menander. 



YE distant spires, ye antique towers, 

That crown the wat'ry glade, 
Where grateful Science still adores 

Her Henry's * holy shade ; 
And ye, that from the stately brow 
Of Windsor's heights th' expanse helow 
Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey, 

Whose turf, whose shade, whose floweTS among 

Wanders the hoary Thames along 
His silver-winding way ! 

Ah happy hills ! ah pleasing shade ! 

Ah fields beloved in vain, 
Where once my careless childhood stray'd 

A stranger yet to pain ! 
I feel the gales that from ye blow 
A momentary bliss bestow, • 
As waving fresh their gladsome wing, 

My weary soul they seem to sooth, 

And, redolent of joy and youth, 
To breathe a second spring. 

* King Henry the Sixth, Founder of the College. 



6 GRAY'S POEMS. 

Say, Father Thames, for thou ha^t seen 

Full many a sprightly race 
Disporting on thy margent green 

The paths of pleasure trace, 
Who foremost now delight to cleave 
With pliant arm thy glassy wave ? 
The captive linnet which enthrall ? 

What idle progeny succeed 

To chase the rolling circle's speed, 
Or urge the flying ball ? 

While some on earnest business bent 

Their murm'ring labours ply 
'Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint 

To sweeten liberty : 
Some bold adventurers disdain 
The limits of their little reign, 
And unknown regions dare descry : 

Still as they run they look behind, 

They hear a voice in every wind, 
And snatch a fearful joy. 

Gay hope is theirs, by fancy fed, 

Less pleasing when possest ; 
The tear forgot as soon as shed, 

The sunshine of the breast : 
Theirs buxom health of rosy hue, 
Wild wit, invention ever-new, 
And lively cheer of vigour born ; 

The thoughtless day, the easy night, 

The spirits pure, the slumbers light, 
That fly th' approach of morn. 

Alas ! regardless of their doom, 

The little victims play ! 
No sense have they of ills to come, 

Nor care beyond to-day : 
Yet see how all around 'em wait 
The Ministers of human fate, 



GRAY'S POEMS. 

And black Misfortune's baleful train ! 

Ah, show them where in ambush stand 
To seize their prey the murth'rous band ! 

Ah, tell them they are men ! 

These shall the fury Passions tear, 

The vultures of the mind, 
Disdainful Anger, pallid Fear, 

And Shame that sculks behind; 
Or pining Love shall waste their youth, 
Or Jealousy with rankling tooth, 
That inly gnaws the secret heart, 

And Envy wan, and faded Care, 

Grim-visaged comfortless Despair, 
And Sorrow's piercing dart. 

Ambition this shall tempt to rise, 

Then whirl the wretch from high, 
To bitter Scorn a sacrifice, 

And grinning Infamy. 
The stings of Palsehood those shall try, 
And hard Unkindness' alter' d eye, 
That mocks the tear it forced to flow ; 
And keen Remorse with blood defiled, 
And moody Madness laughing wild 
Amid severest woe. 

Lo, tn the vale of years beneath 

A griesly troop are seen, 
The painful family of Death, 

More hideous than their Queen : 
This racks the joints, this fires the veins, 
That every labouring sinew strains, 
Those in the deeper vitals rage: 

Lo, Poverty, to fill the band, 

That numbs the soul with icy hand, 
And slow-consuming Age. 

To each his suff'rings : all are men, 
Condemn'd alike to groan ; 



8 GRAY'S POEMS. 

The tender for another's pain, 
Th' unfeeling for his own. 

Yet ah ! why should they know their fate 2 

Since sorrow never comes too late, 

And happiness too swiftly flies. 

Thought would destroy their paradise* 
No more ; where ignorance is bliss, 

*Tis folly to be wise. 



GRAY'S POEMS. 

ODE IV. 

TO ADVERSITY. 



Zifva . 

Tov $>pove7v Bporovg oSw- 
cravTcc, t<£ 7ra$si yua^av 
@ii/Ta xvptan; sy^siv. 

JEschylus, in Agamemnone. 



DAUGHTER of Jove, relentless Power, 

Thou Tamer of the human breast, 
Whose iron scourge and tort'ring hour 

The Bad affright, afflict the Bestl 
Bound in thy adamantine chain 
The Proud are taught to taste of pain, 
And purple Tyrants vainly groan 
With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone. 

When first thy Sire to send on earth 

Virtue, his darling Child, design'd, 
To thee he gave the heav'nly Birth, 

And bad to form her infant mind. 
Stern rugged Nurse ! thy rigid lore 
With patience many a year she bore i 
What sorrow was, thou bad'st her know, 
And from her own she learn'd to melt at others' woe. 

Scared at thy frown terrific, fly 

Self-pleasing Folly's idle brood, 
Wild Laughter, Noise, and thoughtless Joy, 

And leave us leisure to be good. 

B 2 



10 GRAY'S POEMS. 

Light they disperse, and with them go 

The summer Friend, the fiatt'ring Foe; 

By vain Prosperity received, 

To her they vow their truth" and are again believed.. 

Wisdom in sable garb array'd, 

Immersed in rapt'rous thought profound, 
And Melancholy, silent maid, 

With leaden eye, that loves the ground, 
Still on thy solemn steps attend: 
Warm Charity, the general Friend, 
With Justice, to herself severe, 
And Pity, dropping soft the sadly-pleasing tear.. 

Oh, gently on thy Suppliant's head, 

Dread Goddess, lay thy chast'ning hand ! 
Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad, 

Nor circled with the vengeful Band 
(As by the Impious thou art seen) 
With thund'ring voice, and threat'ning mien,. 
With screaming Horror's funeral cry, 
Despair, and fell Disease, and ghastly Poverty, 

Thy form benign, oh Goddess, wear, 

Thy milder influence impart, 
Thy philosophic Train be there 

To soften, not to wound my heart. 
The generous spark extinct revive, 
Teach me to love and to forgive, 
Exact my own defects to scan, 
What others are to feel, and know myself a Man., 



GRAY'S POEMS. 11 



ODE V. 



THE FROGRESS OF POESY. 

Pindaric *. 



<f>o>vavr« pvvstoio-iv sp 

Ae to 7rav spjUYjVswv •%ot.Ti%ei. 

Pindar , Glymp. II. 



I. I. 

AWAKE, JEolian lyre, awake, 

And give to rapture all thy trembling strings* 
f From Helicon's harmonious springs 

A thousand rills their mazy progress take : 

* When the author first published this and the 
following Ode, he was advised, even by his friends, 
to subjoin some few explanatory notes; but had 
too much respect for the understanding of his 
readers to take that liberty. 

f The subject and simile, as usual with Pindar, 
are united. The various sources of poetry, which 
gives life and lustre to all it touches, are here 
described; its quiet majestic progress enriching 
every subject (otherwise dry and barren) with a 
pomp of diction and luxuriant harmony of num- 
bers ; and its more rapid and irresistible course, 
when swoln and hurried away by the conflict of 
tumultuous passions. 



M GRAY'S POEMS. 

The laughing flowers, that round them blow,. 

Drink life and fragrance as they flow. 

Now the rich stream of music winds along 

Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong, 

Through verdant vales, and Ceres' golden reign 

Now rolling down the steep, amain, 

Headlong, impetuous, see it pour : 

The rocks, and nodding groves, rebellow to the roar,. 

I. 2. 

* Oh ! Sovereign of the willing soul,. 

Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs, 

Enchanting shell ! the sullen Cares, 

And frantic Passions, hear thy soft control.. 

On Thracia's Hills the Lord of War 

Has curb'd the fury of his car, 

And dropp'd his thirsty lance at thy command. 

Perching on the sceptred hand 

Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feather'd king 

With ruffled plumes, and flagging wing : 

Quench'd in dark clouds of slumber lie 

The terror of his beak, and lightnings of his eye. 

L S. 
f Thee the voice, the dance, obey, 
Temper'd to thy warbled lay. 
O'er Idalia's velvet-green 
The rosy-crowned Loves are seen 
On Cytherea's day 

With antic Sport, and blue-eyed Pleasures, 
Frisking light in frolic measures ; 
Now pursuing, now retreating, 

Now in circling troops they meet I 
To brisk notes in cadence beating 

Glance their many-twinkling feet. 



* Power of harmony to calm the turbulent sallies 
of the soul. The thoughts are borrowed from the 
first Pythian of Pindar. 

+ Power of harmony to produce all the graces o£ 
motion in the body. 



GRAY'S POEMS. 13 

Slow melting strains their Queen's approach declare .* 
Where'er she turns the Graces homage pay. 

With arms sublime, that float upon the air, 
In gliding state she wins her easy way : 

O'er her warm cheek, and rising bosom, move 

The bloom of young Desire and purple light of Love. 

II. J. 

* Man's feeble race what ills await ! 

Labour, and Penury, the racks of Pain, 
Disease, and Sorrow's weeping train, 

And Death, sad refuge from the storms of Fate ! 
The fond complaint, my Song, disprove, 
And justify the laws of Jove. 
Say, has he giv'n in vain the heav'nly Muse ? 
Night, and all her sickly dews, 
Her Spectres wan, and Birds of boding cry, 
He gives to range the dreary sky : 
Till down the eastern cliffs afar 
Hyperion's march they spy, and glitt'ring shafts of 
war. 

II. 2. 

f In climes beyond the solar road, 
Where shaggy forms o'er ice-built mountains roam, 
The Muse has broke the twilight-gloom 

To cheer the shivering Native's dull abode. 
And oft, beneath the od'rous shade 
Of Chili's boundless forests laid„ 

* To compensate the real and imaginary ills of 
life, the Muse was given to mankind by the same 
Providence that sends the day by its cheerful pre- 
sence to dispel the gloom and terrors of the night. 

f Extensive influence of poetic genius over the 
remotest and most uncivilized nations: its con- 
nexion with liberty, and the virtues that naturally 
attend on it. — (See the Erse, Norwegian, and 
Welch Fragments; the Lapland and America^ 
Songs.) I 



14 GRAY'S POEMS. 

She deigns to hear the savage Youth repeat 

In loose numbers wildly sweet 

Their feather-cinctured Chiefs, and dusky Loves. 

Her track, where'er the Goddess roves, 

Glory pursue, and generous Shame, 

Th' unconquerable Mind, and Freedom's holy flame, 

II. 3. 

* Woods, that wave o'er Delphi's steep, 
Isles, that crown th' vEgean deep, 

Fields, that cool Ilissus laves, 

Or where Mseander's amber waves 
In lingering Lab'rinths creep, 
How do your tuneful Echoes languish, 
Mute, but to the voice of Anguish ! 
Where each old poetic Mountain 

Inspiration breathed around ; 
Ev'ry shade and hallow'd Fountain 

Murmur'd deep a solemn sound : 
Till the sad Nine in Greece's evil hour 

Left their Parnassus for the Latian plains. 
Alike they scorn the pomp of tyrant Power, 

And coward Vice, that revels in her chains. 
When Latium had her lofty spirit lost, 
They sought, oh Albion ! next thy sea-encircled 
coast. 

III. 1. 

Far from the sun and summer-gale, 
In thy green lap was Nature's f Darling laid, 
What time, where lucid Avon stray'd, 

* Progress of poetry from Greece to Italy, and 
from Italy to England. Chaucer was not unac- 
quainted with the writings of Dante or of Petrarch. 
The Earl of Surrey and Sir Thomas Wyatt had 
travelled in Italy, and formed their taste there; 
Spenser imitated the Italian writers ; Milton im- 
proved on them: but this school expired soon 
after the Restoration, and a new one arose on the 
French model, which has subsisted ever since. 
f Shakspeare. 



GRAY'S POEMS. 15 

To him the mighty Mother did unveil 

Her awful face : the dauntless Child 

Stretch'd forth his little arms, and smiled. 

■ This pencil take/ she said, • whose colours clear 

Richly paint the vernal year : 

Thine too these golden keys, immortal Boy ! 

This can unlock the gates of Joy; 

Of Horror that, and thrilling Fears, 

Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic Tears/ 

III. 2. 
Nor second He *, that rode sublime 

Upon the seraph- wings of Ecstasy, 

The secrets of th' Abyss to spy. 
He pass'd the naming bounds of Place and Time : 
The living Throne, the sapphire-blaze, 
Where Angels tremble, while they gaze, 
He saw; but blasted with excess of light, 
Closed his eyes in endless night. 
Behold where Dryden's less presumptuous car 
Wide o'er the fields of Glory bear 
Two Coursers of ethereal race, 
With necks in thunder clothed, and long -resound- 
ing pace. 

III. 3. 

Hark, his hands the lyre explore! 
Bright-eyed Fancy hovering o'er 

Scatters from her pictured urn 

Thoughts, that breathe, and words, that burn, 
t But ah ! 'tis heard no more 

* Milton. 

t We have had in our language no other odes of 
the sublime kind, than that of Dryden on St. 
Cecilia's day : for Cowley (who had his merit) yet 
wanted judgment, style, and harmony for such a 
task. That of Pope is not worthy of so great a 
man. Mr. Mason, indeed, of late days, has touched 



16 GRAY'S POEMS. 

Oh ! Lyre divine, what daring Spirit 
Wakes thee now ? though he inherit 
Nor the pride, nor ample pinion, 

* That the Theban eagle bear, 
Sailing with supreme dominion 

Through the azure deep of air : 
Yet oft before his infant eyes would run 

Such forms, as glitter in the Muse's ray 
With orient hues, unborrow'd of the Sun : 

Yet shall he mount, and keep his distant way 
Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate, 
Beneath the Good how far — but far above the Great. 

the true chords, and with a masterly hand in some 
of his Choruses, — above all in the last of Carac- 
tacus ; 

c Hark ! heard ye not yon footstep dread ?' &c. 

♦ Pindar. 



GRAY'S POEMS. 17 



ODE VI. 

THE BARD. 

Pindaric *. 

I. 1. 
* RUIN seize thee, ruthless King ! 

Confusion on thy banners wait ! 
Though fann'd by Conquest's crimson wing, 

They mock the air with idle state. 
Helm, nor Hauberk's f twisted mail, 
Nor e'en thy virtues, Tyrant, shall avail 
To save thy secret soul from nightly fears, 
From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears !' 
Such were the sounds, that o'er the crested pride 

Of the first Edward scatter'd wild dismay, 
As down the steep of Snowdon's X shaggy side 

He wound with toilsome march his long array. 

* This Ode is founded on a tradition current in 
Wales, that Edward the First, when he completed 
the conquest of that country, ordered all the Bards 
that fell into his hands to be put to death. 

f The Hauberk was a texture of steel ringlets, 
or rings interwoven, forming a coat of mail, that 
sat close to the body, and adapted itself to every 
motion. 

X Snowdon was a name given by the Saxons to 
that mountainous tract which the Welch them- 
selves call Craigian-eryri : it included all the 
highlands of Caernarvonshire and Merionethshire, 



18 GRAY'S POEMS. 

Stout Glo'ster * stood aghast in speechless trance : ' 
' To arms !' cried Mortimer f, and couch'd his qui- 
v'ring lance. 

I. 2. 
On a rock, whose haughty brow 

Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood, 
Robed in the sable garb of woe, 

With haggard eyes the Poet stood ; 
(Loose his beard, and hoary hair 
Stream'd, like a meteor, to the troubled air) 
And with a Master's hand, and Prophet's fire, 
Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre. 
' Hark, how each giant-oak, and desert cave, 

Sighs to the torrent's awful voice beneath ! 
O'er thee, oh King ! their hundred arms they wave, 

Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe; 
Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day, 
To high-born Hoel's harp, or soft Llewellyn's lay. 

I. 3. 

* Cold is Cadwallo's tongue, 

That hush'd the stormy main : 
Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed: 

Mountains, ye mourn in vain 
Modred, whose magic song 
Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-topp'd head. 

as far east as the river Conway. R. Hygden, 
speaking of the castle of Conway, built by King 
Edward the First, says, * Ad ortum amnis Conway 
ad clivum montis Erery;' and Matthew of West- 
minster, (ad ann. 1283,) ' Apud Aberconway ad 
pedes montis Snowdonias fecit erigi castrum forte.' 

* Gilbert de Clare, surnamed the Red, Earl of 
Gloucester and Hertford, son-in-law to King Edward. 

f Edmond de Mortimer, Lord of Wigmore. 

They both were Lords-Marchers, whose lands 
lay on the borders of Wales, and probably accom- 
panied the King in this expedition. 



GRAY'S POEMS. 19 

On dreary Arvon's shore* they lie, 
Smear'd with gore, and ghastly pale : 
Far, far aloof th' affrighted ravens sail ; 

The famish'd Eagle f screams, and passes by. 

Dear lost companions of my tuneful art, 
Dear, as the light that visits these sad eyes, 

Dear, as the ruddy drops that warm my heart, 
Ye died amidst your dying country's cries 

No more I weep. They do not sleep. 
On yonder cliffs, a griesly band, 

I see them sit ; they linger yet, 
Avengers of their native land : 

With me in dreadful harmony they join, 

And £ weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy 
line.' 

II. I. 

r Weave the warp, and weave the woof, 
The winding-sheet of Edward's race. 
Give ample room, and verge enough 

The characters of hell to trace. 
Mark the year, and mark the night, 
§ When Severn shall re-echo with affright 

* The shores of Caernarvonshire opposite to the 
Isle of Anglesey. 

f Camden and others observe, that eagles used 
annually to build their aerie among the rocks of 
Snowdon, which from thence (as some think) were 
named by the Welch Cvaigian-eryri, or the crags 
of the eagles. At this day (I am told) the highest 
point of Snowdon is called the eagle's nest. That 
bird is certainly no stranger to this island, as the 
Scots, and the people of Cumberland, Westmore- 
land, &c. can testify : it even has built its nest in 
the Peak of Derbyshire. (See Willoughby's Or- 
nithol. published by Ray.) 

$ See the Norwegian Ode, that follows. 

§ Edward the Second, cruelly butchered in 
Berkley Castle. 



20 GRAY'S POEMS. 

The shrieks of death, through Berkley's roof that 

ring, 
Shrieks of an agonizing King ! 
♦ She-wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs, 

That tear'st the bowels of thy mangled Mate, 
f From thee be born, who o'er thy country hangs 

The scourge of Heav'n ! What Terrors round him 
wait ! 
Amazement in his van, with Flight combined, 
And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind. 

II. 2. 
" Mighty Victor, mighty Lord, 

£ Low on his funeral couch he lies ! 
No pitying heart, no eye, afford 

A tear to grace his obsequies. 
Is the sable § Warrior fled ? 
Thy son is gone. He rests among the Dead. 
The Swarm, that in thy noon-tide beam were 

born? 
Gone to salute the rising Morn. 
Fair || laughs the Morn, and soft the Zephyr blows, 

While proudly riding o'er the Azure realm 
In gallant trim the gilded Vessel goes ; 

Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm ; 
Regardless of the sweeping Whirlwind's sway, 
That, hush'd in grim repose, expects his evening- 
prey. 

* Isabel of France, Edward the Second's adulter- 
ous queen. 

+ Triumphs of Edward the Third in France. 

X Death of that King, abandoned by his children, 
and even robbed in his last moments by his courtiers 
and his mistress. 

§ Edward, the Black Prince, dead sometime be- 
fore his father. 

II Magnificence of Richard the Second's reign. 
See Froissard, and other contemporary writers. 



GRAY'S POEMS. 21 

II. 3. 

tl * Fill high the sparkling bowl, 

The rich repast prepare ; 
Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast : 

Close by the regal chair 
Fell Thirst and Famine scowl 
A baleful smile upon their baffled Guest. 
Heard ye the din of t battle bray, 

Lance to lance, and horse to horse ? 

Long years of havock urge their destined course, 
And through the kindred squadrons mow their way. 
Ye Towers of Julius, ^ London's lasting shame, 

With many a foul and midnight murder fed, 
Revere his § Consort's faith, his Father's || fame. 

And spare the meek ^[ Usurper's holy head ! 
Above, below, the ** rose of snow, 

Twined with her blushing foe, we spread : 

* Richard the Second (as v/e are told by Arch- 
bishop Scroop- and the confederate lords in their 
manifesto, by Thomas of Walsingham, and all the 
alder writers) was starved to death. The story of 
his assassination by Sir Piers, of Exon, is of much 
later date. 

f Ruinous civil wars of York and Lancaster. 

j Henry the Sixth, George Duke of Clarence, 
Edward the Fifth, Richard Duke of York, &c. 
believed to be murdered secretly in the Tower of 
London. The oldest part of that structure is vul- 
garly attributed to Julius Caesar. 

§ Margaret of Anjou, a woman of heroic spirit, 
who struggled hard to save her husband and her 
crown. 

11 Henry the Fifth. 

*[ Henry the Sixth, very near being canonized. 
The line of Lancaster had no right of inheritance 
to the crown. 

** The white and red roses, devices of York and 
Lancaster. 



22 GRAY'S POEMS. 

The bristled * Boar in infant-gore 

Wallows beneath the thorny shade. 
Now, Brothers, bending o'er th' accursed loom, 
Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his 
doom. 

III. 1. 

" Edward, lo ! to sudden fate 

(Weave we the woof. The thread is spun.) 
t Half of thy heart we consecrate. 

(The web is wove. The work is done.") 
' Stay, oh stay ! nor thus forlorn 
Leave me unbless'd, unpitied, here to mourn : 
In yon bright track, that fires the western skies, 
They melt, they vanish from my eyes. 
But oh ! what solemn scenes, on Snowdon's height 

Descending slow, their glittering skirts unroll ? 
Visions of glory, spare my aching sight, 

Ye unborn Ages, crowd not on my soul ! 
No more our long-lost % Arthur we bewail. 
All-hail, § ye genuine Kings ! Britannia's Issue, 
hail! 

* The silver Boar was the badge of Richard the 
Third ; whence he was usually known, in his own 
time, by the name of the Boar. 

f Eleanor of Castile died a few years after the 
conquest of Wales. The heroic proof she gave of 
her affection for her lord is well known. The 
monuments of his regret, and sorrow for the loss 
of her, are still to be seen at Northampton, Ged- 
dington, Waltham, and other places. 

^ It was the common belief of the Welch nation, 
that King Arthur was still alive in Fairy-Land, 
and should return again to reign over Britain. 

§ Both Merlin and Taliessin had prophesied, 
that the Welch should regain their sovereignty 
over this island ; which seemed to be accomplished 
in the House of Tudor. 



GRAY'S POEMS. 23 

III. 2. 

« Girt with many a Baron bold, 

Sublime their starry fronts they rear ; 
And gorgeous Dames, and Statesmen old 

In bearded majesty, appear. 
In the midst a Form divine ! 
Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-Line ; 
Her lion-port *, her awe-commanding face, 
Attemper'd sweet to virgin-grace. 
What strings symphonious tremble in the air, 

What strains of vocal transport round her play ! 
Hear from the grave, great Taliessin f, hear ! 

They breathe a soul to animate thy clay. 
Bright Rapture calls, and soaring, as she sings, 
Waves in the eye of Heav'n her many-colour'd 
wings. 

III. 3. 

* The verse adorn again 

Fierce War, and faithful Love, 
And Truth severe, by fairy Fiction drest. 

In % buskin'd measures move 
Pale Grief, and pleasing Pain, 
With Horror, Tyrant of the throbbing breast. 
A § voice as of the Cherub-Choir, 

Gales from blooming Eden bear ; 

|| And distant warblings lessen on my ear, 
That lost in long futurity expire. 

* Speed, relating an audience given by Queen 
Elizabeth to Paul Dzialinski, Ambassador of Po- 
land, says, ' And thus she, lion-like rising, daunted 
the malapert orator no less with her stately port 
and majestical deporture, than with the tartnesse 
of her princelie cheekes.' 

f Taliessin, chief of the bards, nourished in the 
sixth century. His works are still preserved, and 
his memory held in high veneration among his 
countrymen. 

$ Shakspeare. § Milton. 

|| The succession of poets after Milton's time. 



24 GRAY'S POEMS. 

Fond impious Man, think'st thou yon sanguine 
cloud, 
Raised by thy breath, has quench' d the Orb of 
day? 
To-morrow he repairs the golden flood, 

And warms the nations with redoubled ray. 
Enough for me: With joy I see 

The different doom our Fates assign. 
Be thine Despair, and sceptred Care ; 
To triumph, and to die, are mine/ 
He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's 

height 
Deep in the roaring tide he plunged to endless 
night. 



GRAY'S POEMS. 25 



ODE VII. 



FOR MUSIC*. 
Irregular, 



I. 

< HENCE, avaunt, ('tis holy ground) 

Comus, and his midnight-crew, 
And Ignorance with looks profound, 

And dreaming Sloth of pallid hue, 
Mad Sedition's cry profane, 
Servitude that hugs her chain, 
Nor in these consecrated bowers 
Let painted Flatt'ry hide her serpent-train in 

Flowers. 
Nor Envy base, nor creeping Gain 
Dare the Muse's walk to stain, 
While bright-eyed Science watches round : 
Hence, away, 'tis holy ground V 

II. 

From yonder realms of empyrean day 
Bursts on my ear th' indignant lay : 
There sit the sainted Sage, the Bard divine, 
The Few, whom Genius gave to shine 

* This Ode was performed in the Senate-House 
at Cambridge, July 1, 1769* at the Installation of 
his Grace Augustus Henry Fitzroy, Duke of Graf- 
ton, Chancellor of the University. 

<: 



26 GRAY'S POEMS. 

Through every unborn age, and undiscover'd clime. 

Rapt in celestial transport they, 

Yet hither oft a glance from high 

They send of tender sympathy 

To bless the place, where on their opening soul 

First the genuine ardor stole. 

*Twas Milton struck the deep-toned shell, 

And, as the choral warblings round him swell, 

Meek Newton's self bends from his state sublime, 

And nods his hoary head, and listens to the rhyme, 

III. 

* Ye brown o'er-arching Groves, 

That Contemplation loves, 

Where willowy Camus lingers with delight I 

Oft at the blush of dawn 

I trod your level lawn, 
Oft woo'd the gleam of Cynthia silver-bright 
In cloisters dim, far from the haunts of Folly, 
With Freedom by my side, and soft-eyed Melan- 
choly.' 

IV. 

But hark ! the portals sound, and pacing forth 
With solemn steps and slow, 

High Potentates, and Dames of royal birth, 
And mitred Fathers in long order go : 
Great * Edward, with the lilies on his brow 

From haughty Gallia torn, 

And f sad Chatillon, on her bridal morn 

* Edward the Third ; who added the fleur de lys 
of France to the arms of England. He founded 
Trinity College. 

f Mary de Valentia, Countess of Pembroke, 
daughter of Guy de Chatillon Comte de St. Paul 
in France : of whom tradition says, that her hus- 
band, Audemar de Valentia, Earl of Pembroke, 
was slain at a tournament on the day of his 
nuptials. She was the foundress of Pembroke 



GRAY'S POEMS. 27 

That wept her bleeding Love, and princely * Clare, 
And t Anjou's Heroine, and £ the paler Rose, 
The rival of her crown and of her woes, 

And § either Henry there, 

The murder 'd Saint, and the majestic Lord, 

That broke the bonds of Rome. 
(Their tears, their little triumphs o'er, 
Their human passions now no more, 

Save Charity, that glows beyond the tomb) 

All that on Granta's fruitful plain 

Rich streams of regal bounty pour'd, 

And bad these awful fanes and turrets rise, 

To hail their Fitzroy's festal morning come ; 

And thus they speak in soft accord 

The liquid language of the skies. 

V. 

« What is Grandeur,, what is Power ? 
Heavier toil, superior pain. 
What the bright reward we gain ? 

College, or Hall, under the name- of Aula Maris? 
de Valentia. 

* Elizabeth de Burg, Countess of Clare, was 
wife of John de Burg, son and heir of the Earl of 
Ulster, and daughter of Gilbert de Clare, Earl of 
Gloucester, by Joan of Acres, daughter of Edward 
the First. Hence the poet gives her the epithet of 
'princely.' She founded Clare Hall. 

t Margaret of Anjou, wife of Henry the Sixth, 
foundress of Queen's College. The poet has cele- 
brated her conjugal fidelity in the former Ode : V. 
Epode 2d, line 1 3th. 

X Elizabeth Widville, wife of Edward the Fourth, 
(hence called the paler Rose, as being of the House 
of York.) She added to the foundation of Margaret 
of Anjou. 

§ Henry the Sixth and Eighth. The former the 
founder of King's, the latter the greatest benefactor 
to Trinity College. 



28 GRAY'S POEMS. 

The grateful memory of the Good. 
Sweet is the breath of vernal shower, 
The bee's collected treasures sweet, 
Sweet music's melting fall, but sweeter yet 
The still small voice of Gratitude.' 

VI. 

Foremost and leaning from her golden cloud 

The * venerable Marg'ret see ! 
' Welcome, my noble Son, (she cries aloud) 

To this, thy kindred train, and me : 
Pleased in thy lineaments we trace 
t A Tudor's fire, a Beaufort's grace. 
Thy liberal heart, thy judging eye, 
The flower unheeded shall descry, 
And bid it round heav'n's altars shed 
The fragrance of its blushing head : 
Shall raise from earth the latent gem 
To glitter on the diadem. 

VII. 
1 Lo, Granta waits to lead her blooming band, 

Not obvious, not obtrusive, She 
No vulgar praise, no venal incense flings ; 
Nor dares with courtly tongue refined 
Profane thy inborn royalty of mind : 

She reveres herself and thee. 
With modest pride to grace thy youthful brow 
The laureate wreath, % that Cecil wore, she brings, 
And to thy just, thy gentle hand 

* Countess of Richmond and Derby ; the mother 
of Henry the Seventh, foundress of St. John's and 
Christ's Colleges. 

t The Countess was a Beaufort, and married to 
a Tudor : hence the application of this line to the 
Duke of Grafton, who claims descent from both 
these families. 

f Lord Treasurer Burleigh was Chancellor of the 
University, in the reign of Queen Elizabeth. 






GRAY'S POEMS. 29 

Submits the Fasces of her sway, 

While Spirits blest above and Men below 

Join with glad voice the loud symphonious lay. 

VIII. 

* Through the wild waves as they roar 

With watchful eye and dauntless mien 
Thy steady course of honour keep, 
Nor fear the rocks, nor seek the shore : 
The Star of Brunswick smiles serene, 
And gilds the horrors of the deep,' 



30 GRAY'S POEMS. 



ODE VIII. 

THE FATAL SISTERS. 
From the Norse-Tongue*, 



NOW the Storm begins to lower, 
(Haste, the loom of Hell prepare,) 

Iron -sleet of arrowy shower 
Hurtles in the darken'd air. 

* To be found in the Orcades of Thormodus 
Torfaeus; Hafniae, l6gj, folio: and also in Bar- 
tholinus. 

Vitt er orpit fyrir valfalli, &c. 

The design of Mr. Gray in writing this and the 
three following imitative Odes is given in the Me- 
moirs of his Life. For the better understanding 
the first of these, the reader is to be informed, that 
in the eleventh century, Sigurd, Earl of the 
Orkney-Islands, went with a fleet of ships, and a 
considerable body of troops into Ireland, to the 
assistance of Sictryg with the silken beard, who 
was then making war on his father-in-law Brian, 
King of Dublin : the Earl and all his forces were 
cut to pieces, and Sictryg was in danger of a total 
defeat; but the enemy had a greater loss by the 
death of Brian, their King, who fell in the action. 
On Christmas-day, (the day of the battle,) a native 
of Caitfmcss, in Scotland, saw at a distance a 



GRAY'S POEMS. 31 

Glitt'ring lances are the loom, 
Where the dusky warp we strain, 

Weaving many a Soldier's doom, 
Orkney's woe, and Randver's bane. 

See the griesly texture grow, 
('Tis of human entrails made,) 

And the weights, that play below, 
Each a gasping Warrior's head. 

Shafts for shuttles, dipt in gore, 
Shoot the trembling cords along. 

Sword, that once a Monarch bore, 
Keep the tissue close and strong. 

Mista black, terrific Maid, 

Sangrida, and Hilda see^ 
Join the wayward work to aid : 

'Tis the woof of victory. 

number of persons en horseback riding full speed 
towards a hill, and seeming to enter into it. 
Curiosity led him to follow them, till looking 
through an opening in the focks he saw twelve 
gigantic figures resembling women : they were all 
employed about a loom ; and as they wove, they 
sung the following dreadful Song ; which, when 
they had' finished, they tore the web into twelve, 
pieces, and (each talcing her portion) galloped six 
to the North and as many to the South. These 
were the Valkyriur, female Divinities, servants of 
Odin (or Woden) in the Gothic Mythology. Their 
name signifies Choosers of the slain. They were 
mounted on swift horses, with drawn swords in 
their hands ; and in the throng of battle selected 
such as were destined to slaughter, and conducted 
them to Valhalla, the hall of Odin, or paradise of 
the Brave ; where they attended the banquet, and 
served the departed Heroes with horns of mead 
and ale. 



GRAY'S POEMS. 

Ere the ruddy sun be set, 

Pikes must shiver, javelins sing, 

Blade with clattering buckler meet, 
Hauberk crash, and helmet ring. 

(Weave the crimson web of war) 

Let us go, and let us fly, 
Where our Friends the conflict share, 

Where they triumph, where they die* 

As the paths of fate we tread,, 

Wading through th' ensanguined field : 
Gondula, and Geira, spread 

O'er the youthful King your shield. 

We the reins to slaughter give, 
Ours to kill, and ours to spare : 

Spite of danger he shall live. 

(Weave the crimson web of war.y 

They, whom once the desert-beach 
Pent within its bleak domain, 

Soon their ample sway shall stretch 
O'er the plenty of the plain.. 

Low the dauntless Earl is laid, 

Gored with many a gaping wound t 
Fate demands a nobler head ; 

Soon a King shall bite the ground- 
Long his loss shall Eirin weep, 

Ne'er again his likeness see ; 
Long her strains in sorrow steep* 

Strains of Immortality t 

Horror covers all the heath, 
Clouds of carnage blot the sun. 

Sisters, weave the web of death ; 
Sisters, cease ; the work is done. 



GRAY'S POEMS. 33 

Hail the task, and hail the hands I 
Songs of joy and triumph sing ! 

Joy to the victorious bands ; 
Triumph to the younger King. 

Mortal, thou that hear'st the tale, 

Learn the tenor of our song. 
Scotland, through each winding vale 

Far and wide the notes prolong. 

Sisters, hence with spurs of speed : 
Each her thundering falchion wield; 

Each bestride her sable steed. 
Hurry, hurry to the field. 



C 2 



34 GRAY'S POEMS. 



ODE IX. 

THE DESCENT OF ODIN*. 
From, the Norse-Tongue. 



VPROSE the King of Men Tvith speed, 
And saddled strait his coal-black steed ; 
Down the yawning steep he rode, 
That leads to t Hela's drear abode. 
Him the Dog of Darkness spied, 
His shaggy throat he open'd wide, 
While from his jaws, with carnage fill'd, 
Foam and human gore distill'd : 
Hoarse he bays with hideous din, 
Eyes that glow, and fangs that grin ; 
And long pursues, with fruitless yell, 
The Father of the powerful spell. 
Onward still his way he takes, 
(The groaning earth beneath him shakes,) 
Till full before his fearless eyes 
The portals nine of hell arise. 

* The original is to be found in Bartholinus, de 
causis contemnendse mortis ; Hafniae, ] 689, quarto. 

Upreis Odinn allda gautr, &c. 

f Niflheimr, the hell of the Gothic nations, con- 
sisted of nine worlds, to which were devoted all 
such as died of sickness, old age, or by any other 
means than in battle: over it presided Hela, the 
Goddess of Death. 






GRAY'S POEMS. 35 

Right against the eastern gate, 
By the moss-grown pile he sate ; 
Where long of yore to sleep was laid 
The dust of the prophetic Maid. 
Facing to the northern clime, 
Thrice he traced the Runic rhyme ; 
Thrice pronounced, in accents dread, 
The thrilling verse that wakes the Dead ; 
Till from out the hollow ground 
Slowly breathed a sullen sound. 

Pr. What call unknown, what charms presume 

To break the quiet of the tomb ? 

Who thus afflicts my troubled sprite, 

And drags me from the realms of night ? 

Long on these mould'ring bones have beat 

The winter's snow, the summer's heat, 

The drenching dews and driving rain ! 

Let me, let me sleep again. 

Who is he, with voice unblest, 

That calls me from the bed of rest ? 

O. A Traveller, to thee unknown, 
Is he that calls, a Warrior's Son. 
Thou the deeds of light shalt know; 
Tell me what is done below, 
For whom yon glitt'ring board is spread, 
Drest for whom yon golden bed. 

Pr. Mantling in the goblet see 
The pure bev'rage of the bee ; 
O'er it hangs the shield of gold; 
'Tis the drink of Balder bold: 
Balder's head to death is giv'n. 
Pain can reach the Sons of Heav'n ! 
Unwilling I my lips unclose : 
Leave me, leave me to repose. 

O. Once again my call obey. 
Prophetess, arise, and say, 



S6 GRAY'S POEMS. 

What dangers Odin's Child await, 
Who the Author of his fate. 

Pr. In Hoder's hand the Hero's doom : 
His brother sends him to the tomb. 
Now my weary lips I close : 
Leave me, leave me to repose. 

O. Prophetess, my spell obey, 

Once again arise, and say, 

Who th' Avenger of his guilt, 

By whom shall Hoder's blood be spilt. 

Pr. In the caverns of the west, 
By Odin's fierce embrace comprest, 
A wond'rous Boy shall Rinda bear, 
Who ne'er shall comb his raven-hair, 
Nor wash his visage in the stream, 
Nor see the sun's departing beam ; 
Till he on Hoder's corse shall smile 
Flaming on the fun'ral pile. 
Now my weary lips I close : 
Leave me, leave me to repose. 

O. Yet awhile my call obey. 
Prophetess, awake, and say, 
What Virgins these, in speechless woe, 
That bend to earth their solemn brow, 
That their flaxen tresses tear, 
And snowy veils, that float in air. 
Tell me whence their sorrows rose : 
Then I leave thee to repose. 

Pr. Ha ! no Traveller art thou, 
King of Men, I know thee now, 
Mightiest of a mighty line— 

O. No boding Maid of skill divine 
Art thou, nor Prophetess of good ; 
But mother of the giant-brood ! 



GRAY'S POEMS. 57 

Pr. Hie thee hence, and boast at home, 
That never shall Inquirer come 
To break my iron-sleep again ; 
Till * Lok has burst his tenfold chain. 
Never, till substantial Night 
Has reassumed her ancient right ; 
Till wrapp'd in flames, in ruin hurl'd, 
Sinks the fabric of the world. 

* Lok is the evil Being, who continues in chains 
till the Twilight of the Gods approaches, when he 
shall break his bonds; the human race, the stars, 
and sun, shall disappear; the earth sink in the 
seas, and fire consume the skies : even Odin him- 
self and his kindred-deities shall perish. For a 
farther explanation of this mythology, see * Intro- 
duction a l'Histoire de Dannemarc, par Mons. 
Mallet,' 1755, quarto ; or rather a translation of it, 
published in 1770, and entitled, « Northern An- 
tiquities,' in which some mistakes in the original 
are judiciously corrected. 



38 GRAY'S POEMS. 



ODE X. 

THE TRIUMPHS OF OWEN *. 

From the Welch, 

OWEN's praise demands my song, 
Owen swift, and Owen strong; 
Fairest flower of Roderic's stem, 
t Gwyneth's shield, and Britain's gem. 
He nor heaps his brooded stores, 
Nor on all profusely pours ; 
Lord of every regal art, 
Liberal hand, and open heart. 

Big with hosts of mighty name, 
Squadrons three against him came ; 
This the force of Eirin hiding, 
Side by side as proudly riding, 
On her shadow long and gay 
± Lochlin ploughs the wat'ry way ; 
There the Norman sails afar 
Catch the winds, and join the war : 
Black and huge along they sweep, 
Burthens of the angry deep. 

* From Mr. Evans's Specimens of the Welch 
Poetry ; London, 1704, quarto. Owen succeeded 
his father Griffin in the principality of North 
Wales, A. D. li 20. This battle was fought near 
forty years afterwards. 

f North Wales. £ Denmark. 



GRAY'S POEMS. 39 

Dauntless on his native sands 
* The Dragon-Son of Mona stands ; 
In glitt'ring arms and glory drest, 
High he rears his ruby crest. 
There the thund'ring strokes begin, 
There the~ press, and there the din ; 
Talymalfra's rocky shore 
Echoing to the battle's roar, 
t Check'4 by the torrent-tide of blood 
Backward Meinai rolls his flood ; 
While, heap'd his master's feet around, 
Prostrate Warriors gnaw the ground. 
Where his glowing eye-balls turn, 
Thousand Banners round him burn. 
Where he points his purple spear, 
Hasty, hasty Rout is there, 
Marking with indignant eye 
Fear to stop, and shame to fly. 
There Confusion, Terror's child, 
Conflict fierce, and Ruin wild, 
Agony, that pants for breath, 
Despair and honourable Death. 

* The red Dragon is the device of Cadwallader, 
which all his descendants bore on their banners. 

f This and the three following lines are not in 
the former Editions, but are now added from the 
author's MS. 



40 GRAY'S POEMS, 



ODE XI 

THE DEATH OF HOEL. 
From the Welch *. 



HAD I but the torrent's might, 

With headlong rage and wild affright 

Upon Deira's squadrons hurl'd, 

To rush, and s.weep them from the world ! 

Too, too secure in youthful pride 
By them my friend, my Hoel, died, 
Great Cian's Son : of Madoc old 
He ask'd no heaps of hoarded gold; 
Alone in Nature's wealth array'd, 
He ask'd, and had the lovely Maid. 

To Cattraeth's vale in glitt'ring row 
Twice two hundred Warriors go ; 
Every Warrior's manly n2ck 
Chains of regal honour deck, 
Wreath' d in many a golden link : 
From the golden cup they drink 
Nectar, that the bees produce. 
Or the grape's ecstatic juice. 

* Of Aneurim, styled the Monarch of the Bards. 
He flourished about the time of Taliessin, A. D. 
570. This Ode is extracted from the Gododin, 
(See Mr. Evans's Specimens, p. 71 and 73) and now 
first published. 



GRAY'S POEMS. 41 

Flushed with mirth and hope they burn : 
But none from Cattraeth's vale return, 
Save Aeron brave, and Conan strong, 
(Bursting through the bloody throng) 
And I, the meanest of them all, 
That live to weep, and sing their fall, 



42 GRAY'S POEMS. 



SONNET * 

ON THE 

DEATH OF MR. RICHARD WEST. 



IN vain to me the smiling Mornings shine, 

And redd'ning Phcebus lifts his golden fire : 
The birds in vain their amorous descant join ; 

Or cheerful fields resume their green attire : 
These ears, alas ! for other notes repine, 

A different object do these eyes require : 
My lonely anguish melts no heart but mine ; 

And in my breast the imperfect joys expire. 
Yet Morning smiles the busy race to cheer, 

And new-born pleasure brings to happier men : 
The fields to all their wonted tribute bear : 

To warm their little loves the birds complain : 
I fruitless mourn to him, that cannot hear, 

And weep the more, because I weep in vain. 

* Now first published. See Memoirs, Sect. 3. 



GRAY'S POEMS. 43 



EPITAPH L 



ON *MRS. CLARKE, 

LO ! where this silent Marble weeps, 

A Friend, a Wife, a Mother sleeps; 

A Heart, within whose sacred cell 

The peaceful Virtues loved to dwell. 

Affection warm, and faith sincere, 

And soft humanity were there. 

In agony, in death resign'd, 

She felt the Wound she left behind. 

Her infant Image, here below, 

Sits smiling on a Father's woe: 

Whom what awaits, while yet he strays 

Along the lonely, vale of days ? 

A Pang, to secret sorrow dear ; 

A Sigh ; an unavailing Tear ; 

Till Time shall ev'ry grief remove, 

With Life, with Memory, and with Love, 

* This lady, the wife of Dr. Clarke, physician 
at Epsom, died April 27, 1757 ; and is buried in 
the church of Beckenham, Kent, 



44 



GRAY'S POEMS, 



EPITAPH II.* 



ON SIR WILLIAM WILLIAMS. 



HERE, foremost in the dangerous paths of fame, 
Young Williams fought for England's fair renown ; 

His mind each muse, each grace adorn'd his frame, 
Nor Envy dared to view him with a frown. 

At Aix his voluntary sword he drew, 

There first in blood his infant honour seal'd ; 

From fortune, pleasure, science, love he flew, 
And scorn'd repose when Britain took the field. 

With eyes of flame, and cool undaunted breast, 
Victor he stood on Bellisle's rocky steeps 

Ah ! gallant youth ! this marble tells the rest, 
Where melancholy Friendship bends, and weeps. 



* This Epitaph (hitherto unpublished) was written 
at the request of Mr. Frederick Montagu, who in- 
tended to have inscribed it on a Monument at 
Bellisle, at the siege of which this accomplished 
youth was killed, 176 1; but from some difficulty 
attending the erection of it, this design was not 
executed. 



GRAY'S POEMS. 45 



ELEGY 

WRITTEN IN 
A COUNTRY CHURCH- YARD. 



THE Curfew tolls the knell of parting day, 
The lowing herds wind slowly o'er the lea, 

The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, 
And leaves the world to darkness and to me. 

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, 
And all the air a solemn stillness holds, 

Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, 
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds ; 

Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower, 
The moping owl does to the moon complain 

Of such, as wand'ring near her secret bower, 
Molest her ancient solitary reign. 

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, 
Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring 
heap, 

Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, 
The rude Forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 

The breezy call of incense-breathing Morn, 

The swallow twitt'ring from the straw-built shed, 

The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, 
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. 



46 GRAY'S POEMS. 

For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, 
Or busy housewife ply her evening care : 

No children run to lisp their sire's return, 
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. 

Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, 

Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke ; 

How jocund did they drive their team afield ! 
How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke ! 

Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, 
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; 

Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile 
The short and simple annals of the poor. 

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, 
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, 

Await alike th' inevitable hour. 

The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 

Nor you, ye Proud, impute to These the fault, 
If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, 

Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted 
vault 
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 

Can storied urn or animated bust 

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? 
Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust, 

Or Flatt'ry soothe the dull cold ear of Death ? 

Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 

Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; 

Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd, 
Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre. 

But knowledge to their eyes her ample page 
Rich with the spoils of time did ne'er unroll ; 

Chill Penury repressed their noble rage, 
And froze the genial current of the soul. 



GRAY'S POEMS. 47 

Full many a gem, of purest ray serene, 
The dark unfathom'd eaves of ocean bear : 

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 
And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 

Some village- Hampden, that with dauntless breast 
The little Tyrant of his- fields withstood ; 

Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, 
Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood. 

Th' applause of list'ning senates to command, 
The threats of pain and ruin to despise, 

To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, 
And read their hist'ry in a nation's eyes, 

Their lot forbad : nor circumscribed alone 

Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined ; 

Forbad to wade through slaughter to a throne, 
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind, 

The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, 
To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, 

Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride 
With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. 

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, 
Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray ; 

Along the cool sequester'd vale of life 

They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. 

Yet ev'n these bones from insult to protect 
Some frail memorial still erected nigh, 

With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture 
deck'd, 
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. 

Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd 
muse, 

The place of fame and elegy supply : 
And many a holy text around she strews, 

That teach the rustic moralist to die. 



48 GRAY'S POEMS. 

For who, to dumb Forgetfulness a prey, 
This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd, 

Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, 
Nor cast one longing ling'ring look behind ? 

On some fond breast the parting soul relies, 
Some pious drops the closing eye requires ; 

Ev'n from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, 
Ev'n in our Ashes live their wonted Fires. 

For thee, who mindful of th' unhonour'd Dead 
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate ; 

If chance, by lonely Contemplation led, 
Some kindred Spirit shall inquire thy fate, 

Haply some hoary-headed Swain may say, 
* Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn 

Brushing with hasty steps the dews away 
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. 

* There at the foot of yonder nodding beech 

That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, 
His listless length at noontide would he stretch, 
And pore upon the brook that babbles by. 

{ Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, 
Mutt'ring his wayward fancies he would rove ; 

Now drooping, woful wan, like one forlorn, 
Or crazed with care, or cross'd in hopeless love. 

* One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill, 
Along the heath and near his fav'rite tree ; 

Another came ; nor yet beside the rill, 
Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he ; 

* The next with dirges due in sad array 

Slow through the church-way path we saw him 
born. 
Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay> 
Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.' 



GRAY'S FOEMS. 49 



THE EPITAPH. 

Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth 
A Youth, to Fortune and to Fame unknown: 

Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth, 
And Melancholy mark'd him for her own. 

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, 
Heav'n did a recompense as largely send : 

He gave to Mis'ry all he had, a tear, 
He gain'd from Heav'n ('twas all he wish'd) 
friend. 

No farther seek his merits to disclose, 
Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, 

(There they alike in trembling hope repose,) 
The bosom of his Father and his God. 



ADDITIONAL POEMS, 

NOT IN MR. MASON'S EDITION, 



VERSES 



THE MARRIAGE OF HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS THE 
PRINCE OF WALES. 



IGNARJ2 nostrum mentes, et inertia corda, 
Dum curas regum, et sortem miseramur iniquam, 
Quae solio affixit, vetuitque calescere flammi 
Dulci, quae dono divum, gratissima serpit 
Viscera per, mollesque animis lene implicat aestus ; 
Nee teneros sensus, Veneris nee praemia norunt, 
Eloquiumve oculi, aut facunda silentia lingua? : 

Scilicit ignorant laerymas, sasvosque dolores, 
Dura rudimenta, et violentiae exordia flamms ; 
Scilicit ignorant, quae flumine tinxit amaro 
Tela Venus, caecique armamentaria Divi, 
Irasque, insidiasque, et taciturn sub pectore vulnus ; 
Namque sub ingressu, primoque in limine Amoris 
Luctus et ultrices posuere cubilia Curae ; 
Intus habent dulces Risus, et Gratise sedem, 
Et roseis resupina toris, roseo ore Voluptas : 
Regibus hue faciles aditus ; communia spernunt 
Ostia, jamque expers duris custodibus istis 
Panditur accessus, penetraliaque intima Templi. 



54 GRAY'S POEMS, 

Tuque Oh ! Angliacis, Princeps, spes optima regnis, 
Ne tantum, ne finge metum; quid imagine captus 
Haeres, et mentem pictura pascis inani ? 
Umbram miraris : nee longum tempus, et ipsa 
Ibit in amplexus, thalamosque ornabit ovantes. 
Iile tamen tabulis inhians longum haurit amorem, 
Affatu fruitur tacito, auscultatque tacentem 
Immemor artificis calami, risumque, ruboremque 
Aspicit in fucis, pictaeque in virginis ore : 
Tanta Venus potuit ; tantus tenet error amantes. 

Nascere, magna Dies, qua sese Augusta Britanno 
Committat Pelago, patriamque relinquat amoenam ; 
Cujus in adventum jam nunc tria regna secundos 
Attolli in plausus, dulcique accensa furore 
Incipiunt agitare modos, et carmina dicunt : 
Ipse animo sedenim juvenis comitatur euntem 
Explorat ventos, atque auribus aera captat, 
Atque auras, atque astra vocat crudelia; pectus 
Intentum exultat, surgitque arrecta cupido; 
Incusat spes asgra fretum, solitoque videtur 
Latior effundi pontus, fructusque morantes. 

Nascere, Lux major, qua sese Augusta Britanno 
Committat juveni totam, propriamque dicabit ; 
At citius (precor) Oh ! cedas melioribus astris : 
Nox finem pompae, finemque imponere curis 
Possit, et in thalamos furtim deducere nuptam ; 
Sufficiat requiemque viris, et amantibus umbras ; 
Adsit Hymen, et subridens cum matre Cupido 
Accedant, sternantque toros, ignemque ministient; 
Ilicet haud pictae ineandescit imaginae formae 
Ulterius juvenis, verumque agnoscit amorem. 

Sculptile sicut ebur, faciemque arsisse venustam 
Pygmaliona canunt; ante hanc suspiria ducit r 
Alloquiturque amens, flammamque et vulnera 

narrat ; 
Implorata Venus jussit cum vivere signum, 



GRAY'S POEMS. :>5 

_ Foeminaeam inspirans animam ; quae gaudia sur- 

gunt, 
Audiit ut prima? nascentia murmura linguae, 
Luctari in vitam, et paulatim volvere ocellos 
Sedulus, aspexitque nova splendescere namma ; 
Corripit amplexu vivam, jamque oscula jungit 
Acria confestim, recipitque rapitque ; prioris 
Immemor ardoris, Nymphaeque obiitus eburnse. 

THO. GRAY, Pet. Coll. 



56 GRAY'S POEMS, 



SONG. 






THYRSIS, when he left me, swore 

In the Spring he would return — 
Ah ! what means the op'ning flower ? 

And the bud that decks the thorn ? 
'Twas the nightingale that sung ! 
'Twas the lark that upward sprung ! 

Idle notes ! untimely green ! . 

Why such unavailing haste ? 
Gentle gales and sky serene 

Prove not always Winter past. 
Cease, my doubts, my fears to move — 
Spare the honour of my love. 

* This was written, at the request of Miss Speed, 
to an old Air of Geminiani : the thought from the 
French. 



GRAY'S POEMS. 57 



THE INQUIRY.* 



WITH Beauty, with Pleasure surrounded, to 
languish — 

To weep without knowing the cause of my an- 
guish ; 

To start from short slumbers, and wish for the 
morning — 

To close my dull eyes when I see it returning; 

Sighs sudden and frequent, looks ever dejected" — 

Words that steal from my tongue, by no meaning 
connected ! 

Ah, say, fellow-swains, how these symptoms befel 
me? 

They smile, but reply not>— Sure Delia can tell 
me! 

* These amatory lines having been found among 
the MSS. of Gray, but bearing no title, we have 
ventured, for the sake of uniformity in this volume, 
to prefix the above. The lines themselves will be 
found in a note in the second volume of Warton's 
Edition of Pope's Works. 



D2 



58 GRAY'S POEMS. 



TOPHET: 
i 

AN EPIGRAM. 

[Mr. Etough*, of Cambridge University, was a 
person as remarkable for the eccentricities of his 
character, as for his personal appearance. A Mr. 
Tyson, of Bene't College, made an etching of his 
head, and presented it to Mr. Gray, who wrote 
under it the following lines.] 

THUS Tophet look'd; so grinn'd the brawling 

fiend, 
Whilst frighted prelates bow'd, and call'd him 

friend. 
Our mother-church, with half-averted sight,. 
Blush'd as she bless'd her grisly proselyte ; 
Hosannas rung through Hell's tremendous borders, 
And Satan's self had thoughts of taking orders. 

* Some information respecting this gentleman 
(who was Rector of Therfield, Herts, and of Colm- 
worth, Bedfordshire) will be found in the Gentle- 
man's Magazine, Vol. LVI. p. 25. 281. 



GRAY'S POEMS. 



IMPROMPTU, 

Suggested by a View, in 1766, of the Seat and 
Ruins of a deceased Nobleman, at Kingsgate, 
Kent. 

OLD, and abandon' d by each venal friend, 
Here H d form'd the pious resolution 

To smuggle a few years, and strive to mend 
A broken character and constitution. 

On this congenial spot he fix'd his choice ; 

Earl Goodwin trembled for his neighb'ring sand; 
Here sea-gulls scream, and cormorants rejoice, 

And mariners, though shipwreck'd, dread to land. 

Here reign the blust'ring North and blighting East, 
No tree is heard to whisper, bird to sing ; 

Yet Nature could not furnish out the feast, 
Art he invokes new horrors still to bring. 

Here mould'ring fanes and battlements arise, 
Turrets and arches nodding to their fall ; 

Unpeopled monast'ries delude our eyes, 
And mimic desolation covers all. 

* Ah !' said the sighing peer, * had B — te been true, 

Nor M — 's, R— .'s, B — 's friendship vain, 
Far better scenes than these had blest our view, 
And realized the x beauties which we feign. 

* Purged by the sword, and purified by fire, 
Then had we seen proud London's hated walls ; 

Owls would have hooted in St. Peter's choir, 
And foxes stunk and litter'd in St. Paul's.' 



60 GRAY'S POEMS. 



THE CANDIDATE ; 

OR, 
THE CAMBRIDGE COURTSHIP.* 



WHEN sly Jemmy Twitcher had smugg'd up his 
face, 

With a lick of court white-wash, and pious gri- 
mace, 

A wooing he went, where three sisters of old 

In harmless society guttle and scold. 

Lord ! sister, says Physic to Law, I declare, 
Such a sheep-biting look, such a pick-pocket air! 
Not I for the Indies ! — You know I'm no prude, — 
But his name is a shame, — and his eyes are so 

lewd ! 
Then he shambles and straddles so oddly — I fear — 
No — at our time of life 'twould be silly, my dear. 

I don't know, says Law, but methinks for his look 
'Tis just like the picture in Rochester's book ; 
Then his character, Phyzzy, — his morals — his life — 
When she died, I can't tell, but he once had a wife. 
They say he's no Christian, loves drinking and 

w g, 

And all the town rings of his swearing and roaring I 

* This jeu d' esprit was written a short time pre 
vious to the election of a High Steward of the 
University of Cambridge, for which office the 
noble lord alluded to made an active canvass. 



GRAY'S POEMS. 61 

His lying and filching, and Newgate-bird tricks ; — 
Not I — for a coronet, chariot and six. 

Divinity heard, between waking and dozing, 
Her sisters denying, and Jemmy proposing : 
From table she rose, and with bumper in hand, 
She stroked up her belly, and stroked down her 

band — 
What a pother is here about wenching and roaring ! 

Why, David loved catches, and Solomon w g: 

Did not Israel filch from th' Egyptians of old 
Their jewels of silver and jewels of gold ? 
The prophet of Bethel, we read, told a lie ; 
He drinks — so did Noah; — he swears — so do !; 
To reject him for such peccadillos, were odd ; 
Besides, he repents — for he talks about G** — 

[ To Jemmy] 
Never hang down your head, you poor penitent elf; 
Come buss me — I'll be Mrs. Twitcher myself. 



Gi GRAYS POEMS. 



SKETCH 



HIS OWN CHARACTER.* 

TOO poor for a bribe, and too proud to importune ; 
He had not the method of making a fortune : 
Could love and could hate, so was thought some- 
what odd ; 
No very great Wit, he believed in a God. 
A Post or a Pension he did not desire, 
But left Church and State to Charles Townshend 
and Squire f. 

• This was written in 176l, and was found in one 
of his pocket-books. 

t At that time Fellow of St. John's College, Cam- 
bridge, and afterwards Bishop of St. David's. 



POEMS, 

ADDRESSED TO, AND IN MEMORY OF, 

MR. GRAY. 



TO MR. GRAY, UPON HIS ODES. 

By David Gar rick, Esq** 

REPINE not, Gray, that our weak dazzled eyes 
Thy daring heights and brightness shun ; 

How few can trace the eagle to the skies, 
Or, like him, gaze upon the sun ! 

Each gentle reader loves the gentle Muse, 

That little dares and little means ; 
Who humbly sips her learning from Reviews, 

Or flutters in the Magazines. 

No longer now from Learning's sacred store 
Our minds their health and vigour draw ; 

Homer and Pindar are revered no more, 
No more the Stagyrite is law. 

Though nursed by these, in vain thy Muse appears 
To breathe her ardours in our souls ; 

In vain to sightless eyes and deaden'd ears 
The lightning gleams, the thunder rolls : 

Yet droop not, Gray, nor quit thy heaven-born art ; 

Again thy wond'rous powers reveal ; 
Wake slumb'ring Virtue in the Briton's heart, 

And rouse us to reflect and feel ! 

With ancient deeds our long-chill' d bosoms fire, 
Those deeds that mark Eliza's reign ! 

Make Britons Greeks again, then strike the lyre, 
And Pindar shall not sing in vain. 

* From the original MS. in the possession of 
the late Isaac Reed, Esq. 



66 POEMS ADDRESSED 



ODE TO MR. GRAY, 

ON 
THE BACKWARDNESS OF SPRING. 

By the late Mr. Richard Werf. 



DEAR Gray, that always in my heart 
Possessest far the better part, 
What mean these sudden blasts that rise 
And drive the Zephyrs from the skies ? 
O join with mine thy tuneful lay, 
And invocate the tardy May. 

Come, fairest Nymph, resume thy reign ! 
Bring all the Graces in thy train ! 
With balmy breath and flowery tread, 
Rise from thy soft ambrosial bed ; 
Where, in elysian slumber bound, 
Embow'ring myrtles veil thee round. 

Awake, in all thy glories drest, 
Recal the Zephyrs from the west ; 
Restore the sun, revive the skies, 
At mine, and Nature's call, arise ! 
Great Nature's self upbraids thy stay, 
And misses her accustom'd May. 

See ! all her works demand thy aid ; 
The labours of Pomona fade : 
A plaint is heard from ev'ry tree ; 
Each budding flow'ret calls for thee ; 



TO MR. GRAY. Q7 

The birds forget to love and sing ; 
With storms alone the forests ring. 

Come then, with Pleasure at thy side, 
Diffuse thy vernal spirit wide; 
Create, where'er thou turn'st thine eye, 
Peace, Plenty, Love, and Harmony; 
Till ev'ry being share its part, 
And Heav'n and Earth be glad at heart. 



POEMS IN MEMORY 



ODE 



THE DEATH OF MR. GRAY. 



Me quoque Musarum studium sub nocte silenti 
Artibus assuetis solicitare solet. 

Claudian. 



ENOUGH of fabling, and th' unhallow'd haunts 

Of Dian' and of Delia, names profane, 

Since not Diana nor all Delia's train 

Are subjects that befit a serious song; 

For who the bards among 

May but compare with thee, lamented Gray ! 

Whose pensive solemn lay 

Drew all the list'ning shepherds in a ring, 

Well pleased to hear thee sing 

Thy moving notes, on sunny hijl or plain, 

And catch new grace from thy immortal strain. 

O wood-hung Menai, and ye sacred groves 
Of Delphi, we still venerate your names, 
Whose awful shades inspired the Druids' dreams. 
Your recess, though imagined, Fancy loves, 
And through these long-lost scenes delighted roves : 
So future bards perhaps shall sing of Thames, 



OF MR. GRAY, 69 

And as they sing shall say, 

'Twas there of old where mused illustrious Gray ! 

By Isis' banks his tuneful lays would suit 

To Pindar's lofty lyre, or Sappho's Lesbian lute. 

Oft would he sing, when the still Eve came on, 
Till sable Night resumed her ebon throne, 
And taught us, in his melancholic mood, 
To scorn the great, and love the wise and good ; 
Told us, 'twas virtue never dies, 
And to what ills frail mankind open lies ; 
How safe through life's tempestuous sea to steer, 
Where dang'rous rocks and shelves and whirlpools 
oft appear. 

And when fair Morn arose again to view, 

A fairer landscape still he drew, 

That blooms like Eden in his charming lays, 

The hills and dales, and Heav'n's cerulean blue, 

Brighten'd o'er all by Sol's resplendent rays. 

The musky gale, in rosy vale, 

And gilded clouds on azure hills, 

The fragrant bow'rs, and painted flow'rs, 

And tinklings of the silver rills ; 

The very insects, that in sunbeams play, 

Turn useful monitors in his grave moral lay. 

But, ah ! sad Melancholy intervenes, 

And draws a cloud o'er all these shining scenes. 

'Tis her, alas ! we often find 

The troubler of each great unbounded mind, 

And leagued with her associate Fear, 

Will tremble lest the turning sphere, 

And sinking earth, and reeling planets run 

In dire disorder with the falling sun. 

But now, great Bard, thy life of pain is o'er ; 
'Tis we must weep, though thou shalt grieve no 
more. 



70 POEMS IN MEMORY 

Through other scenes thou now dost rove, 

And clothed with gladness walk'st the courts above, 

And listen'st to the heav'nly choir, 

Hymning their God, while seraphs strike the lyre. 

Safe with them in those radiant climes of bliss, 

Thou now enjoy'st eternal happiness. 



OF MR. GRAY. 71 



ODE 

ON THE DEATH OF MR. GRAY. 

By the Bight Honourable, the Earl of Carlisle* 



WHAT spirit's that which mounts on high, 
Borne on the arms of every tuneful Muse ? 
His white robes flutter to the gale : 
They wing their way to yonder opening sky, 
In glorious state through yielding clouds they 
sail, 
And scents of heavenly flowers on earth diffuse. 

What avails the poet's art ? 

What avails his magic hand? 
Can he arrest Death's pointed dart, 

Or charm to sleep his murderous hand? 

Well I know thee, gentle shade ! 

That tuneful voice, that eagle eye. — 
Quick bring me flowers that ne'er shall fade, 
^ The laurel wreath that ne'er shall die; 
With every honour deck his funeral bier, 
For he to every Grace and every Muse was dear J 

The listening Dryad, with attention still. 
On tiptoe oft would near the poet steal, 

To hear him sing upon the lonely hill 
Of all the wonders of th' expanded vale, 



72 POEMS IN MEMORY 

The distant hamlet, and the winding stream, 
The steeple shaded by the friendly yew, 

Sunk in the wood the sun's departing gleam, 
The grey-robed landscape stealing from the view. 

* Or wrapt in solemn thought, and pleasing woe, 
O'er each low tomb he breathed his pious strain, 
A lesson to the village swain, 

And taught the tear of rustic grief to flow ! — 

t But soon with bolder note, and wilder flight, 
O'er the loud strings his rapid hand would run : 
Mars hath lit his torch of war, 
Ranks of heroes fill the sight ! 
Hark ! the carnage is begun ! 
And see the furies through the fiery air 
O'er Cambria's frighten'd land the screams of horror 
bear ! 



$ Now led by playful Fancy's hand 
O'er the white surge he treads with printless feet, 

To magic shores he flies, and fairy land, 
Imagination's blest retreat. 

Here roses paint the crimson way, 
No setting sun, eternal May, 
Wild as the priestess of the Thracian fane, 
When Bacchus leads the madd'ning train, 
His bosom glowing with celestial fire, 
To harmony he struck the golden lyre ; 
To harmony each hill and valley rung ! 
The bird of Jove, as when Apollo sung, 
To melting bliss resign'd his furious soul, 
With milder rage his eyes began to roll, 
The heaving down his thrilling joys confest, 
.Till by a mortal's hand subdued he sunk to rest. 

* This alludes to Mr. Gray's Elegy written in a 
Country Church-yard. 

t The Bard, a Pindaric Ode. 

X The Progress of Poetry, a Pindaric Ode. 



r 



OF MR. GRAY. 73 

• O, guardian angel of our early day, 

Henry, thy darling plant must bloom no more ! 
By thee attended, pensive would he stray, 

Where Thames soft-murmuring laves his winding 
shore. 
Thou bad'st him raise the moralizing song, 

Through life's new seas the little bark to steer ; 
The winds are rude and high, the sailor young ; 

Thoughtless, he spies no furious tempest near, 
Till to the poet's hand the helm you gave, 
From hidden rocks an infant crew to save ! 

f Ye fiends who rankle in the human heart, 
Delight in woe, and triumph in our tears, 
Resume again 
Your dreadful reign : 
Prepare the iron scourge, prepare the venom'd 
dart, 
Adversity no more with lenient air appears : 
The snakes that twine about her head 
Again their frothy poison shed; 
For who can now her whirlwind flight control, 

Her threatening rage beguile ? 
He who could still the tempest of her soul, 
And force her livid lips to smile, 

To happier seats is fled ! 
Now. seated by his Thracian sire, 

At the full feast of mighty Jove 
To heavenly themes attunes his lyre, 
And fills with harmony the realms above ! 

* Ode on a distant Prospect of Eton College, 
t Hymn to Adversity. 



74 POEMS IN MEMORY 



LINES 

TO 

THE MEMORY OF MR. GRAY. 

Extracted from the third book of 
MASON'S « ENGLISH GARDEN.' 

CLOSED is that curious ear, by death's cold hand, 

That mark'd each error of my careless strain 

With kind severity ; to whom my muse 

Still loved to whisper, what she meant to sing 

In louder accent ; to whose taste supreme 

She first and last appeal'd, nor wished for praise, 

Save when his smile was herald to her fame. 

Yes, thou art gone; yet friendship's falt'ring 

tongue 
Invokes thee still ; and still, by fancy soothed, 
Fain would she hope her Gray attends the call. 
Why then, alas ! in this my fav'rite haunt, 
Place I the urn, the bust, the sculptured lyre *, 
Or fix this votive tablet, fair inscribed v 

* Mr. Gray died July 31st, 177 1. This book was 
beguQ a few months after. The three following 
lines allude to a rustic alcove the author was then 
building in his garden, in which he placed a me- 
dallion of his friend, and an urn ; a lyre over the 
entrance with the motto from Pindar, which 
Mr. Gray had prefixed to his Odes, ^QNANTA 
2TNETOI2I,and under it, on a tablet, this stanza, 



OF MR. GRAY. 75 

With numbers worthy thee, for they are thine ? 
Why, if thou hear'st me still, these symbols sad 
Of fond memorial ? Ah ! my pensive soul ! 
He hears me not, nor ever more shall hear 
The theme his candour, not his taste approved. 

Oft, f smiling as in scorn,' oft would he cry, 
' Why waste thy numbers on a trivial art, 
That ill can mimic even the humblest charms 
Of all-majestic Nature ?' at the word 
His eye would glisten, and his accents glow 
With all the Poet's frenzy, « Sov'reign queen ! 
Behold, and tremble, while thou view'st her state 
Throned on the heights of Skiddaw : call thy art 
To build her such a* throne; that art will feel 
How vain her best pretensions. Trace her march 
Amid the purple crags of Borrowdale ; 
And try like those to pile thy range of rock 
In rude tumultuous chaos. See ! she mounts 
Her Naiad car, and, down Lodore's dread cliff 
Falls many a fathom, like the headlong bard 
My fabling fancy plunged in Conway's flood ; 
Yet not like him to sink in endless night : 
For, on its boiling bosom, still she guides 
Her buoyant shell, and leads the wave along ; 
Or spreads it broad, a river, or a lake, 
As suits her pleasure ; will thy boldest song 
E'er brace the sinews of enervate art 
To such dread daring ? will it ev'n direct 
Her hand to emulate those softer charms 
That deck the banks of Dove, or call to birth 
The bare romantic crags, and copses green, 

taken from the first edition of his Elegy written in 
a Country Church-yard. 

Here scatter'd oft, the loveliest of the year, 
By hands unseen, are showers of violets found ; 

The redbreast loves to build and warble here, 
And little footsteps lightly print the ground. 



76 POEMS IN MEMORY 

That sidelong grace her circuit, whence the rills, 
Bright in their crystal purity, descend 
To meet their sparkling queen ? around each fount 
The hawthorns crowd, and knit their blossom'd 

sprays 
To keep their sources sacred. Here, even here, 
Thy art, each active sinew stretch'd in vain, 
Would perish in its pride. Far rather thou 
Confess her scanty power, correct, control, 
Tell her how far, nor farther, she may go ; 
And rein with reason's curb fantastic taste.' 

Yes, I will hear thee, dear lamented shade, 
And hold each dictate sacred. What remains 
Unsung shall so each leading rule select 
As if still guided by thy judgment sage; 
While, as still modell'd to thy curious ear, 
Flow my melodious numbers; so shall praise, 
If aught of praise the verse I weave may claim, 
From just posterity reward my song. 






OF MR. GRAY. 77 



FRAGMENT OF AN ODE 



DEATH OF MR. GRAY. 



FAIR are the gardens of the Aonian mount, 
And sweet those blooming flow'rs 
Which paint the Maiden's bow'rs ; 
And clear the waters of the gurgling fount : 
Swift they wind through chequer'd allies ; 
Huddling down to th' open valleys; 
Where the quick ripple in the sunbeams plays, 
Turning to endless forms each glance of twinkling 
blaze. 

O'er the gay scene th' enamour'd inmates roam ; 

And gather fresh ideas as they rise 

From Nature's manifold supplies. 
Alas ! for whom ! 
Many a gleam of sprightly thought, 

Many a sad and sable mood, 
Whether from dazzling lustre brought, 

Or nursed by shades of darksome wood, 
Keep death-like silence on their native shore, 
Since he, that gave them speech, is heard no 
more. 



78 POEMS IN MEMORY 

Flown is the spirit of Gray 
Like common breath to mingle with the air : 
Yet still those Goddesses peculiar care, 
That breathe harmonious lay. 
Retired to yonder grassy mound 
In leaves of dusky hue encompass'd round, 
They bid their plaintive accents fill 
The covert hollows of the bosom'd hill : 
With liquid voice and magic hand 
Calliope informs the band : 
Hush'd are the warblers of the grove, attentive to 
the sound. 

• Soft and slow 
Let the melting measures flow, 
Nor lighter air disturb majestic woe. 

And thou, sage Friestess * of our holy fire, 

Who saw'st the Poet's flame expire, 

Thy precious drops profusely shed 

O'er his well-deserving head. 

Thou nurtur'dst once a grateful throng, 

When Milton pour'd the sweets of song 
On Lycidas sunk low j. 

* Now wake that faithful lyre mute Dulness 

reigns : 
Your echoes waft no more the friendly theme ; 
Clogg'd with thick vapours from the neighb'ring 
plains, 
Where old Cam hardly moves his sluggard 
stream. 
But when some public cause 
Claims festive song, or more melodious tear, 
Discordant murmurs grate mine ear. 
Ne'er model'd by Pierian laws, 

* Cambridge University, where Gray died. 

t In 1638 the University published a volume of 
poems to the memory of Mr. Edward King, Mil- 
ton's Lycidas. 



OF MR. GRAY. 79 

Then idly glares full many a motley toy, 
Anacreontic grief, and creeping strains of joy. 

* Far other modes were thine, 

Victim of hasty fate, 
Whom now the powers of melody deplore ; 

Whether in lofty state * 

Thou bad'st thy train divine 

Of raptures on Pindaric pinions soar : 

Or hoping from thyself to fly 

To childhood's careless scenes f, 
Thou sent'st a warm refreshing eye 

On Nature's faded greens : 

« Or when thy calm and steadfast mind 

With philosophic reach profound 
Self-pleasing vanities resign'd, 

Fond of the look, that loves the ground \; 
Discern' d by Reason's equal light, 
How gaudy Fortune cheats the sight; 
While the coarse maid, inured to pain, 
Supports the lab'ring heart, and Virtue's happiest 
reign. 

* But most the music of thy plaintive moan § 
With lengthen'd note detains the list'ning ear, 

As lost in thought thou wander'st all alone 

Where spirits hover round their mansions drear. 

« By Contemplation's eye serenely viewM, 
Each lowly object wears an awful mien: 

'Tis our own blindness veils the latent good : 
The works of Nature need but to be seen. 

* See Gray's Pindaric Odes. 

f Ode on a distant Prospect of Eton College. 

% Hymn to Adversity. 

§ Church-yard Elegy. 



80 



POEMS IN MEMORY 



•' Thou saw'st her beaming from the hamlet-sires 
Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tret's 
shade ; 

Where now, still faithful to their wonted fires * , 
Thy own dear ashes are for ever laid*' 



* Gray was buried at Stoke, the scene of the 
Elegy. 



OF MR. GRAY. 81 



STANZAS 

ON 

THE DEATH OF MR. GRAY. 

By a Lady. 

WHERE sleeps the Bard who graced Museus' 
hearse 

With fragrant trophies by the Muses wove ! 
Shall Gray's cold urn in vain demand the verse, 

Oh ! can his Mason fail in plaintive love ? 

No ; with the Nine inwrapp'd in social woe, 
His lyre unstrung, sad vigil he must keep ; 

W T ith them he mourns, with them his eyes o'erflow, 
For such a Bard immortal Maids can weep. 

Their early pupil in the heav'nly lore 

Of sacred poesy and moral song, 
They taught the youth on eagle wing to soar, 

And bore him through aerial heights along. 

Fancy, obedient to their dread command, 
With brilliant Genius, marshall'd forth his way ; 

They lured his steps to Cambria's once-famed land, 
And sleeping Druids felt his magic lay. 

But vain the magic lay, the warbling lyre, 

Imperious Death ! from thy fell grasp to save ; 

He knew, and told it with a Poet's fire, 
* The paths of Glory lead but to the grave.' 

E 2 



82 POEMS IN MEMORY 

And shall the Bard, whose sympathizing mind 
Mourn'd o'er the simple Rustic's turfy cell, 

To strew his tomb no grateful Mourner find, 
No Village Swain to ring one parting knell ? 

Yes, honour'd shade ! the fringed brook I'll trace, 
Green rushes culling thy dank grave to strew ; 

With mountain rlow'rs I'll deck the hallow'd place, 
And fence it round with osiers mix'd with yew. 



OF MR. GRAY, 83 



THE TEARS OF GENIUS: 

AN ODE. 
By Mr. Taite. 

ON Cam's fair banks, where Learning's hallow' d 
fane 
Majestic rises on the astonish' d sight, 
Where oft the Muse has led the favourite swain, 
And warm'd his soul with Heaven's inspiring 
light, 

Beneath the covert of the sylvan shade, 
Where deadly cypress, mix'd with mournful yew 

Far o'er the vale a gloomy stillness spread, 
Celestial Genius burst upon the view. 

The bloom of youth, the majesty of years, 
The soften'd aspect, innocent and kind, 

The sigh of sorrow, and the streaming tears, 
Resistless all, their various pow'r combined. 

In her fair liand a silver harp she bore, 
Whose magic notes, soft-warbling from the string, 

Give tranquil joy the breast ne'er knew before, 
Or raise the soul on rapture's airy wing. 

By grief impell'd, I heard her heave a sigh, 

While thus the rapid strain resounded through the 
sky; 



84 POEMS IN MEMORY 

Haste, ye sister powers of song, 

Hasten from the shady grove, 
Where the river rolls along, 

Sweetly to the voice of love. 

Where, indulging mirthful pleasures, 
Light you press the flow'ry green. 

And from Flora's blooming treasures 
Cull the wreaths for Fancy's queen. 

Where your gently-flowing numbers, 

Floating on the fragrant breeze, 
Sink the soul in pleasing slumbers 

On the downy bed of ease. 

For graver strains prepare the plaintive lyre, 
That wakes the softest feelings of the soul ; 

Let lonely Grief the melting verse inspire, 
Let deep'ning Sorrow's solemn accents roll. 

Rack'd by the hand of rude Disease 

Behold our fav'rite Poet lies ! 
While every object form'd to please 

Far from his couch ungrateful flies. 

' The blissful Muse, whose favouring smile 
So lately warm'd his peaceful breast, 
Diffusing heavenly joys the while, 
In Transport's radiant garments drest, 
With darksome grandeur and enfeebled blaze, 
Sinks in the shades of night, and shuns his eager 



The gaudy train, who wait on Spring *, 
Tinged with the pomp of vernal pride, 

The youths who mount on Pleasure's wingf, 
And idly sport on Thames's side, 

• Ode on Spring. 

t Ode on the Prospect of Eton College. 



OF MR. GRAY. 85 

With cool regard their various arts employ, 
Nor rouse the drooping mind, nor give the pause 
of joy. 

Ha! wl\at forms, with port sublime*, 

Glide along in sullen mood, 
Scorning all the threats of time, 

High above Misfortune's flood ? 

They seize their harps, they strike the lyre, 
With rapid hand, with freedom's fire. 
Obedient Nature hears the lofty sound, 
And Snowdon's airy cliffs the heavenly strains 
resound. 

In pomp of state, behold they wait, 

With arms outstretch'd, and aspects kind, 
To snatch on high to yonder sky, 
The child of Fancy left behind : 
Forgot the woes of Cambria's fatal day, 
By rapture's blaze impell'd, they swell the artless 
lay. 

But ah ! in vain they strive to sooth, 
With gentle arts, the tort'ring hours; 

Adversity f, with rankling tooth, 
Her baleful gifts profusely pours. 

Behold she comes, the fiend forlorn, 
Array'd in Horror's settled gloom ; 
She strews the briar and prickly thorn, 
And triumphs in th' infernal doom. 
With frantic fury and insatiate rage, 
She gnaws the throbbing breast and blasts the 
glowing page. 

* The Bard, an Ode. 
t Hymn to Adversity. 



86 POEMS IN MEMORY 

No more the soft iEolian flute * 

Breathes through the heart the melting strain ; 
The powers of Harmony are mute, 
And leave the once-delightful plain ; 
With heavy wing, I see them beat the air, 
Damp'd by the leaden hand of comfortless Despair. 

Yet stay, O ! stay, celestial pow'rs, 

And with a hand of kind regard 
Dispel the boist'rous storm that lours 
Destructive on the fav'rite bard ; 
O watch with me his last expiring breath. 
And snatch him from the arms of dark, oblivious 
death. 

Hark, the Fatal Sisters f join, 
And with Horror's mutt'ring sounds, 

Weave the tissue of his line, 
While the dreadful spell resounds. 

' Hail, ye midnight sisters, hail, 

Drive the shuttle swift along ; 
Let your secret charms prevail 

O'er the valiant and the strong. 

« O'er the glory of the land, 

O'er the innocent and gay, 
O'er the Muse's tuneful band — 

Weave the fun'ral web of Gray.' 

Tis done, 'tis done — the iron hand of pain, 

With ruthless fury and corrosive force, 
Racks every joint, and seizes every vein : 
He sinks, he groans, he falls a lifeless corse. 

Thus fades the flow'r nipp'd by the frozen gale, 
Though once so sweet, so lovely to the eye : 

* The Progress of Poesy, 
f The Fatal Sisters, an Ode. 



OF MR. GRAY. 87 

Thus the tall oaks, when boist'rous storms assail, 
Tom from the earth, a mighty ruin lie. 

Ye sacred sisters of the plaintive verse, 
Now let the stream of fond affection flow ; 

O pay your tribute o'er the slow-drawn hearse, 
With all the manly dignity of woe. 

Oft when the Curfew tolls its parting knell 

With solemn pause yon Church-yard's gloom 
survey, 

While Sorrow's sighs and tears of Pity tell 
How just the moral of the Poet's lay*. 

O'er his green grave, in Contemplation's guise, 
Oft let the pilgrim drop a silent tear : 

Oft let the shepherd's tender accents rise, 
Big with the sweets of each revolving year ; 

Till prostrate Time adore his deathless name, 

Fix'd on the solid base of adamantine fame. 

* Elegy in a Country Church-yard. 



88 POEMS IN MEMORY OF MR. GRAY. 



EPITAPH 

ON 

MR. GRAY'S MONUMENT, 

IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 

By Mr. Mason. 

NO more the Grecian Muse unrivall'd reigns ; 

To Britain let the nations homage pay ! 
She boasts a Homer's fire in Milton's strains, 

A Pindar's rapture in the lyre of Gray. 



MEMOIRS 



LIFE AND WRITINGS 

OF 

MR. GRAY. 



MEMOIRS 

OF 

MR. GRAY. 



SECTION I. 

THE lives of men of letters seldom abound with 
incidents ; and perhaps no life ever afforded fewer 
than that which I have undertaken to write. But 
I am far from mentioning this by way of previous 
apology, as is the trite custom of biographers. The 
respect which I owe to my deceased friend, to the 
public, and (let me add) to myself, prompts me to 
wave so impertinent a ceremonial. A reader of 
sense and taste never expects to find in the memoirs 
of a Philosopher, or Poet, the same species of en- 
tertainment, or information, which he would re- 
ceive from those of a Statesman or General : he 
expects, however, to be either informed or enter- 
tained : nor would he be disappointed, did the 
writer take care to dwell principally on such topics 
as characterize the man, and distinguish that 
peculiar part which he acted in the varied Drama 
of Society. But this rule, self-evidently right as 
it may seem, is seldom observed. It was said, 
with almost as much truth as wit, of one of these 



92 MEMOIRS OF 

writers, that, when he composed the life of Lord 
Verulam, he forgot that he was a Philosopher ; and 
therefore, it was to be feared, should he finish that 
of the Duke of Marlborough, he would forget that 
he was a General. I shall avoid a like fault. I 
will promise my reader that he shall, in the follow- 
ing pages, seldom behold Mr. Gray in any other 
light than that of a Scholar and a Poet : and though 
I am more solicitous to show that he was a virtuous, 
a friendly, and an amiable man, than either; yet 
this solicitude becomes unnecessary from the very 
papers which he has bequeathed me, and which I 
here arrange for the purpose : since in these the 
qualities of his head and heart so constantly appear 
together, and the fertility of his fancy so intimately 
unites with the sympathetic tenderness of his soul, 
that were it in my intention, I should find it im- 
possible to disjoin them. 

His parents were reputable citizens of London. 
His grandfather a considerable merchant : but his 
father, Mr. Philip Gray, though he also followed 
business, was of an indolent and reserved temper ; 
and therefore rather diminished than increased his 
paternal fortune. He had many children, of whom 
Thomas, the subject of these memoirs, was the 
fifth born. All of them, except him, died in their 
infancy ; and I have been told that he narrowly 
escaped suffocation (owing to too great a fulness 
of blood which destroyed the rest), and would cer- 
tainly have been cut off as early, had not his 
mother, with a courage remarkable for one of her 
sex, and withal so very tender a parent, ventured 
to open a vein with her own hand, which instantly 
removed the paroxysm. 

He was born in Cornhill, December the 26th, 
1716; was educated at Eton school, under the care 
of Mr. Antrobus, his mother's brother, who was at 
that time one of the assistant masters, and also a 
Fellow of St. Peter's College, Cambridge, to which 
place Mr. Gray removed, and was there admitted a 



MR. GRAY. 93 

pensioner in the year 1734. While at school, he 
contracted a friendship with Mr. Horace Walpole 
and Mr. Richard West : the former of these appears, 
at present, with too much distinction in the literary, 
as well as fashionable world, to make it necessary 
I should enlarge upon his subject: but as the latter 
died before he could exert his uncommon abilities, 
it seems requisite to premise somewhat concerning 
him ; especially as almost every anecdote which I 
have to produce, concerning the juvenile part of 
Mr. Gray's life, is included in his correspondence 
with this gentleman : a correspondence which con- 
tinued, with very little interruption, for the space 
of about eight years, from the time of their- leaving 
school to the death of the accomplished youth in 
question. 

His father was Lord Chancellor of Ireland. His 
grandfather, by the mother, the famous Bishop 
Burnet. He removed from Eton to Oxford, about 
the same time that Mr. Gray left that place for 
Cambridge. Each of them carried with him the 
reputation of an excellent classic scholar; though 
I have been told that, at the time, Mr. West's 
genius was reckoned the more brilliant of the two : 
a judgment which, I conceive, was not well founded; 
for though Mr. West's part of that correspondence, 
which I shall speedily give the reader*, will un- 

* I am well aware that I am here going to do a 
thing which the cautious and courtly Dr. Sprat 
(were he now alive) would highly censure. He 
had, it seems, a large collection of his friend Mr. 
Cowley's letters, * a way of writing in which he 
peculiarly excelled, as in these he always expressed 
the native tenderness and innocent gaiety of his 
heart ; yet the Doctor was of opinion that nothing 
Of this nature should be published, and that the 
letters that pass between particular friends (if they 
are written as they ought to be) can scarce ever be 
fit to see the light.' What ! not when they express 



94 MEMOIRS OF 

doubtedly show that he possessed very extraordinary 
•talents, yet, on Mr. Gray's side, there seems super- 
padded to these, such a manly precision of taste, 
and maturity of judgment, as would induce one to 
believe Mr. Walpole's phrase not very hyperbolical, 
who has often asserted to me that ' Gray never was 
a Boy.' 

In April, 1738, Mr. West left Christ Church for 
the Inner Temple, and Mr. Gray removed from 
Peter- House to Town the latter end of that year; 
intending also to apply himself to the study of the 
law in the same society : for which purpose his 
father had already either hired or bought him a 
set of chambers. But on an invitation which Mr. 
Walpole gave him to be his companion in his 
travels, this intention was laid aside for the pre- 
sent, and never after put in execution. 

According to the plan which I have formed for 
arranging these papers, a part of the letters which 
I have already mentioned will here find their 

the native tenderness and innocent gaiety of a heart 
like Mr. Cowley's ? No, by no means, * for in such 
letters the souls of men appear undressed, and in 
that negligent habit they may be fit to be seen by 
one or two in a chamber, but not to go abroad in 
the street.' — See Life of Cowley, page 38, Hurd's 
Edition. 

Such readers as believe it incumbent on every 
well-bred soul never to appear but in full dress, 
will think that Dr. Sprat has reason on his side ; 
but I suspect that the generality will, notwith- 
standing, wish he had been less scrupulously deli- 
cate, and lament that the letters in question are 
not now extant. Of one thing I am fully confident, 
that, had this been the case, the judicious Dr. 
Hurd would have found his critical labour much 
lessened, when, in pure charity to this amiable 
writer, he lately employed himself in separating 
His pleasing moral fiom his pointed wit. 



MR. GRAY. 95 

proper place. They will give a much clearer idea 
both of Mr. Gray and his friend, at this early 
period, than any narrative of mine* They will 
include also several specimens of their juvenile 
compositions, and, at the same time, mark the 
progress they had made in literature. They will 
ascertain, not only the scope and turn of their 
genius, but of their temper. In a word, Mr. Gray 
will become his own biographer, both in this and 
the rest of the sections into which I divide this 
work. By which means, and by the assistance of 
a few notes which I shall occasionally add, it may 
be hoped that nothing will be omitted which may 
tend to give a regular and clear delineation of his 
life and character. 

But as this is the earliest part of their cor- 
respondence, and includes only the time which 
passed between Mr. Gray's admission into the uni- 
versity and his going abroad, it may be reasonably 
expected that the manner rather than the matter of 
these letters must constitute their principal merit ; 
they will therefore be chiefly acceptable to such 
ingenuous youths, who, being about the same age, 
have a relish for the same studies, and bosoms 
susceptible of the same warmth of friendship. To 
these I address them; in the pleasing hope that 
they may prompt them to emulate their elegant 
simplicity, and, of course^ to study with more care 
the classic models from which it was derived, If 
they do this, I shall not be much concerned if 
graver readers think them unimportant or even 
trifling. 



96 MEMOIRS OF 



LETTER I. 

MR. WEST TO MR. GRAY. 

YOU use me very cruelly: you have sent me but 
one letter since I have been at Oxford, and that 
too agreeable not to make me sensible how great 
my loss is in not having more. Next to seeing 
you is the pleasure of seeing your hand-writing ; 
next to hearing you is the pleasure of hearing from 
you. Really and sincerely I wonder at you, that 
you thought it not worth while to answer my last 
letter. I hope this will have better success in be- 
half of your quondam school-fellow ; in behalf of 
one who has walked hand in hand with you, like 
the two children in the wood, 

Through many a flowery path and shelly grot, 
Where learning lull'd us in her private * maze. 

The very thought, you see, tips my pen with 
poetry, and brings Eton to my view. Consider 
me very seriously here in a strange country, in- 
habited by things that call themselves Doctors and 
Masters of Arts ; a country flowing with syllogisms 
and ale, where Horace and Virgil are equally un- 
known; consider me, I say, in this melancholy 
light, and then think if something be not due to 

Yours. 
Christ Church, Nov. 14, 1735. 

P. S. I desire you will send me soon, and truly 
and positively, f a history of your own time. 

* This expression prettily distinguishes their 
studies when out of the public school, which would 
naturally, at their age, be vague and desultory. 

f Alluding to his grandfather's history. 



MR. GRAY. 97 



LETTER II. 



MR. GRAY TO MR. WEST. 

PERMIT me again to write to you, though I have 
so long neglected my duty, and forgive my brevity, 
when I tell you, it is occasioned wholly by the 
hurry I am in to get to a place where I expect to 
meet with no other pleasure than the sight of you ; 
for I am preparing for London in a few days at 
furthest. I do not wonder in the least at your 
frequent blaming my indolence, it ought rather to 
be called ingratitude, and I am obliged to your 
goodness for softening so harsh an appellation. 
When we meet, it will, however, be my greatest 
of pleasures to know what you do, what you read, 
and how you spend your time, &c. &c. and to tell 
you what I do not read, and how I do not, &c. for 
almost all the employment of my hours may be 
best explained by negatives; take my word and 
experience upon it, doing nothing is a most amusing 
business; and yet neither something nor nothing 
gives me any pleasure. When you have seen one 
of my days, you have seen a whole year of my life ; 
they go round and round like the blind horse in 
the mill, only he has the satisfaction of fancying 
he makes a progress, and gets some ground ; my 
eyes are open enough to see the same dull prospect, 
and to know that having made four-and-twenty 
steps more, I shall be just where T was; I may, 
better than most people, say my life is but a span, 
were I not afraid lest you should not believe that 
a person so short-lived could write even so long 
a letter as this; in short, I believe I must not 
send you the history of my own time, till I can 

F 



98 MEMOIRS OF 

send you that also of the reformation *. However, 
as the most undeserving people in the world must 
sure have the vanity to wish somebody had a regard 
for them, so I need not wonder at my own, in 
being pleased that you care about me. You need 
not doubt, therefore, of having a first row in the 
front box of my little heart, and I believe you are 
not in danger of being crowded there ; it is asking 
you to an old play, indeed, but you will be candid 
enough to excuse the whole piece for the sake of 
a few tolerable lines. 

For this little while past I have been playing 
with Statius ; we yesterday had a game at quoits 
together ; you will easily forgive me for having 
broke his head, as you have a little pique to him. 
I send you my translation t, which I did not engage 
in because I liked that part of the poem, nor do I 
now send it to you because I think it deserves it, 
but merely to show you how I mispend my days. 

Third in the labours of the Disc came on, 

With sturdy step and slow, Hippomedon ; 

Artful and strong he poised the w^ll-known weight, 

By Phlegyas warn'd, and fired by Mnesthetcs' fate, 

That to avoid, and this to emulate. 

His vigorous arm he tried before he flung, 

Braced all his nerves, and every sinew strung ; 

* Carrying on the allusion to the other history 
written by Mr. West's grandfather. 

j- This consisted of about 110 lines, which were 
sent separately, and as I believe it was Mr. Gray's 
first attempt in English verse, it is a curiosity not 
to be entirely withheld from the reader, although 
it is not my intention to fill these Memoirs with 
much either of his or his correspondent's produc- 
tions in this way, yet as a few lines will show how 
much Mr. Gray had imbibed of Dryden's spirited 
manner, at this early period, I insert at the end of 
the letter a specimen of the whole. 



MR. GRAY. 99 

Then with a tempest's whirl and wary eye, 

Pursued his cast, and hurl'd the orb on high; 

The orb on high tenacious of its course, 

True to the mighty arm that gave it force, 

Far overleaps all bound, and joys to see 

Its ancient lord secure of victory. 

The theatre's green height and woody wall 

Tremble ere it precipitates its fall, 

The ponderous mass sinks in the cleaving ground, 

While vales and woods and echoing hills rebound. 

As when from ^Etna's smoking summit broke, 

The eyeless Cyclops heaved the craggy rock ; 

Where Ocean frets beneath the dashing oar, 

And parting surges round the vessel roar ; 

'Twas there he aim'd the meditated harm, 

And scarce Ulysses scaped his giant arm. 

A tyger's pride the victor bore away, 

With native spots and artful labour gay, 

A shining border round the margin roll'd, 

And calm'd the terrors of his claws in gold. 

Cambridge, May 8, 1736. 



LETTER III. 

MR. WEST TO MR. GRAY. 

: I AGREE with you that you have broke Statius's 
head, but it is in like manner as Apollo broke 

. Hyacinth's, you have foiled him infinitely at his 
own weapon : I must insist on seeing the rest of 
your translation, and then I will examine it entire, 
and compare it with the Latin, and be very wise 
and severe, and put on an inflexible face, such as 

.! becomes the character of a true son of Aristarchus, 
of hyper-critical memory. In the mean while, 

And calm'd the terrors of his claws in gold, 



LOf C, 



100 MEMOIRS OF 

is exactly Statius — Summos auro mansueverat un- 
gues. I never knew before that the golden fangs 
on hammercloths were so old a fashion. Your 
Hymeneal * I was told was the best in the Cam- 
bridge Collection before I saw it, and, indeed, it is 
no great compliment to tell you 1 thought it so when 
I had seen it, but sincerely it pleased me best. 
Methinks the college bards have run into a strange 
taste on this occasion. Such soft unmeaning stuff 
about Venus and Cupid, and Peleus and Thetis, 
and Zephyrs and Dryads, was never read. As for 
my poor little Eclogue it has been condemned and 
beheaded by our Westminster judges ; an exordium 
of about sixteen lines absolutely cut off, and its 
other limbs quartered in a most barbarous manner. 
I will send it you in my next as my true and 
lawful heir, in exclusion of the pretender, who has 
the impudence to appear under my name. 

As yet I have not looked into Sir Isaac. Public 
disputations I hate ; mathematics I reverence ; 
history, morality, and natural philosophy have the 
greatest charms in my eye ; but who can forget 
poetry ? they call it idleness, but it is surely the 
most enchanting thing in the world, « ac dulce 
otium et poene omni negotio pulchrius.' 

I am, dear Sir, yours while I am 

Christ Church, May 24, 1736. R. W. 

• Published in the Cambridge collection of verses 
on the Prince of Wales's marriage. I have not 
thought it necessary to insert these hexameters, as 
adulatory verses of this kind, however well written, 
deserve not to be transmitted to posterity; and, 
indeed, are usually buried, as they ought to be, in 
the trash with which they are surrounded. Every 
person, who feels himself a poet, ought to be above 
prostituting his powers on such occasions; and ex- 
treme youth (as was the case with Mr. Gray) is the 
only thing that can apologize for his having done 
it. 



MR. GRAY. 101 

THE following letter seems to require some 
little preface, not so much as it expresses Mr. 
Gray's juvenile sentiments concerning the mode of 
our academical education, as that these sentiments 
prevailed with him through life, and that he often 
declared them, with so little reserve, as to create 
him many enemies. It is certain that at the time 
when he was admitted, and for some years after, 
Jacobitism, and its concomitant hard drinking, 
prevailed still at Cambridge, much to the pre- 
judice, not only of good manners but of good 
letters ; for, if this spirit was then on the decline, 
it was not extinguished till after the year 1745. 
But we see (as was natural enough in a young 
man) he laid the blame rather on the mode of 
education than the mode of the times ; and to this 
error, the uncommon proficiency he had made at 
Eton in classical learning might contribute, as he 
found himself in a situation where that species of 
merit held not the first rank. However this be, it 
was necessary not to omit this feature of his mind, 
when employed in drawing a general likeness of 
it; and what colours could be found so forcible as 
his own, to express its true light and shadow ? I 
would further observe, that whatever truth there 
might be in his satire at the time it was written, 
it can by no means affect the present state of the 
university. There is usually a much greater fluc- 
tuation of taste and manners in an academical, 
than a national body ; occasioned (to use a scholastic 
metaphor) by that very quick succession of its com- 
ponent parts, which often goes near to destroy its 
personal identity. Whatever therefore may be true 
of such a society at one time, may be, and gene- 
rally is, ten years after, absolutely false. 



102 MEMOIRS OF 



LETTER IV. 



MR. GRAY TO MR. WEST. 

YOU must know that I do not take degrees, and, 
after this term, shall have nothing more of College 
impertinencies to undergo, which I trust will be 
some pleasure to you, as it is a great one to me. 
I have endured lectures daily and hourly since I - 
came last, supported by the hopes of being shortly 
at full liberty to give myself up to my friends and 
classical companions, who, poor souls ! though I 
see them fallen into great contempt with most 
people here, yet I cannot help sticking to them, 
and out of a spirit of obstinacy (I think) love 
them the better for it ; and, indeed, what can I do 
else ? Must I plunge into metaphysics ? Alas ! I 
cannot see in the dark ; nature has not furnished 
me with the optics of a cat. Must I pore upon 
mathematics ? Alas ! I cannot see in too much 
light ; I am no eagle. It is very possible that two 
and two make four, but I would not give four 
farthings to demonstrate this ever so clearly ; and 
if these be the profits of life, give me the amuse- 
ments of it. The people I behold all around me, 
it seems, know all this and more, and yet I do not 
know one of them who inspires me with any 
ambition of being like him. Surely it was of this 
place, now Cambridge, but formerly known by 
the name of Babylon, that the prophet spoke when 
he said, « the wild beasts of the desert shall dwell 
there, and their houses shall be full of doleful 
creatures, and owls shall build there, and satyrs 
shall dance there; their forts and towers shall be 
a den for ever, a joy of wild asses ; there shall the 
great owl make her nest, and lay, and hatch, and 



MR. GRAY. 103 

gather under her shadow ; it shall be a court of 
dragons ; the screech owl also shall rest there, and 
find for herself a place of rest.' You see here is 
a pretty collection of desolate animals, which is 
verified in this town to a tittle, and perhaps it 
may also allude to your habitation, for you know- 
all types may be taken by abundance of handles ; 
however, I defy your owls to match mine. 

If the default of your spirits and nerves be 
nothing but the effect of the hyp, I have no more 
to say. We all must submit to that wayward 
Queen ; I too in no small degree own her sway, 

I feel her influence while I speak her power. 

But if it be a real distemper, pray take more care 
of your health, if not for your own at least for our 
sakes, and do not be so soon weary of this little 
world : I do not know what * refined friendships 
you may have contracted in the other, but pray 
do not be in a hurry to see your acquaintance 
above ; among your terrestrial familiars, however, 
though I say it that should not say it, there 
positively is not one that has a greater esteem for 
you than 

Yours most sincerely, &c. 
Peterhouse, Dec. 1*36. 

* This thought is very juvenile, but perhaps he 
meant to ridicule the affected manner of Mrs. 
Rowe's letters of the dead to the living ; a book 
which was, I believe, published about this time, 



104 MEMOIRS OF 



LETTER V. 



MR. WEST TO MR. GRAY. 

I CONGRATULATE you on your being about to 
leave college *, and rejoice much you carry no 
degrees with you. For I would not have you 
dignified, and I not, for the world, you would 
have insulted me so. My eyes, such as they are, 
like yours, are neither metaphysical nor mathe- 
matical; I have, nevertheless, a great respect for 
your connoisseurs that way, but am always con- 
tented to be their humble admirer. Your collec- 
tion of desolate animals pleased me much ; but 
Oxford, I can assure you, has her owls that match 
yours, and the prophecy has certainly a squint 
that way. Well, you are leaving this dismal land 
of bondage, and which way are you turning your 
face ? Your friends, indeed, may be happy in you, 
but what will you do with your classic companions ? 
An inn of court is as horrid a place as a college, 
and a moot case is as dear to gentle dulness as a 
syllogism. But wherever you go, let me beg you 
not to throw poetry * like a nauseous weed away :' 
cherish its sweets in your bosom ; they will serve 
you now and then to correct the disgusting sober 
follies of the common law, ' misce stultitiam con- 
siliis brevem, dulce est desipere in loco ;' so said 
Horace to Virgil, those two sons of Anac in poetry, 

* I suspect that Mr. West mistook his corre- 
spondent; who, in saying he did not take degrees, 
meant only to let his friend know that he should 
soon be released from lectures and disputations. 
It is certain that Mr. Gray continued at college 
near two years after the time he wrote the pre- 
ceding letter. 



MR. GRAY. 105 

and so say I to you, in this degenerate land of 
pigmies, 

Mix with your grave designs a little pleasure ; 
Each day of business has its hour of leisure. 

In one of these hours I hope, dear sir, you will 
sometimes think of me, write to me, and know me 
yours, 

'E§a(58a, [xyi xebQs vo^, hot. el'So^uev <x/j«pa>* 

that is, write freely to me and openly, as I do to 
you, and to give you a proof of it I have sent you 
an elegy* of Tibullus translated. Tibullus, you 
must know, is my favourite elegiac poet ; for his 
language is more elegant and his thoughts more 
natural than Ovid's. Ovid excels him only in wit, 
of which no poet had more in my opinion. The 
reason I choose so melancholy a kind of poesy, is 
because my low spirits and constant ill health 
(things in me not imaginary, as you surmise, but 
too real, alas ! and, I fear, constitutional) ' have 
tuned my heart to elegies of woe ;' and this like- 
wise is the reason why I am the most irregular 
thing alive at college;, for you may depend upon 
it I value my health above what they call disci- 
pline. As for this poor unlicked thing of an 
elegy, pray criticise it unmercifully, for I send it 
with that intent. Indeed your late translation of 
Statius might have deterred me, but I know you 
are not more able to excel others, than you are apt 
to forgive the want of excellence, especially when 
it is found in the productions of 

Your most sincere friend. 
Christ Church, Dec. 22, 1736. 

* This I omit for the reason given in a preceding 
note, and for another also, because it is not written 
in alternate but heroic rhyme; which I think is 
not the species of English measure adapted to 
elegiac poetry. 

F 2 



105 MEMOIRS OF 



LETTER VI.* 

MR. GRAY TO MR. WALPOLE. 

YOU can never weary me with the repetition of 
„any thing that makes me sensible of your kind- 
ness; since that has been the only idea of any 
social happiness that I have almost ever received, 
and which (begging your pardon for thinking so 
differently from you in such cases) I would by no 
means have parted with for an exemption from all 
the uneasinesses mixed with it : but it would be 
unjust to imagine my taste was any rule for yours ; 
for which reason my letters are shorter and less 
frequent than they would be, had I any materials 
but myself to entertain you with. Love and 
brown sugar must be a poor regale for one of your 
go (it, and, alas ! you know I am by trade a grocer f. 

• Mr. Walpole, on my informing him that it 
was my intention to publish the principal part of 
Mr. Gray's correspondence with Mr. West, very 
obligingly communicated to me the letters which 
he had also received from Mr. Gray at the same 
period. From this collection I have selected such 
as I thought would be most likely to please the 
generality of readers; omitting, though with re- 
gret, many of the more sprightly and humorous 
sort, because either, from their personality, or 
some other local circumstance, they did not seem 
so well adapted to hit the public taste. I shall say 
more upon this subject in a subsequent section, 
when I give my idea of Mr. Gray's peculiar vein of 
humour. 

t i. e, A man who deals only in coarse and 
ordinary wares : to these he compares the plain 



MR. GRAY. 107 

Scandal (if I had any) is a merchandise you do 
not profess dealing in ; now and then, indeed, and 
to oblige a friend, you may perhaps slip a little 
out of your pocket, as a decayed gentlewoman 
would a piece of right mecklin, or a little quantity 
of run tea, but this only now and then, not to 
make a practice of it. Monsters appertaining to 
this climate you have seen already, both wet and 
dry. So you perceive within how narrow bounds 
my pen is circumscribed, and the whole contents 
of my share in our correspondence may be reduced 
under the two heads of 1st, You, 2dly, I ; the 
first is, indeed, a subject to expatiate upon, but 
you might laugh at me for talking about what I 
do not understand ; the second is so tiny, so tire- 
some, that you shall hear no more of it than that 
it is ever 

Yours. 
Peterhouse, Dec. 23, 17 36. 



LETTER VII. 



MR. WEST TO MR. GRAY. 

I HAVE been very ill, and am still hardly re- 
covered. Do you remember Elegy 5th, Book the 
3d, of Tibullus, Vos tenet, &c. and do you re- 
member a letter of Mr. Pope's, in sickness, to Mr. 
Steele ? This melancholy elegy and this melancholy 
letter I turned into a more melancholy epistle of 
my own, during my sickness, in the way of imita- 

sincerity of his own friendship, undisguised by 
flattery; which, had he chosen to carry on the 
allusion, he might have termed the trade of a 
confectioner. 



108 MEMOIRS OF 

tion; and this I send to you and my friends at 
Cambridge, not to divert them, for it cannot, but 
merely to show them how sincere I was when sick : 
I hope my sending it to them now may convince 
them I am no less sincere, though perhaps more 
simple, when well, 

AD AMICOS.* 

Yes, happy youths, on Camus's sedgy side, 
You feel each joy that friendship can divide ; 
Each realm of science and of art explore, 
And with the ancient blend the modern lore. 
Studious alone to learn whate'er may tend 
To raise the genius or the heart to mend ; 
Now pleased along the cloister'd walk you rove, 
And trace the verdant mazes of the grove, 
Where social oft, and oft alone, ye choose 
To catch the zephyr and to court the muse. 
Mean time at me (while all devoid of art 
These lines give back the image of my heart) 
At me the pow'r that comes or soon or late, 
Or aims, or seems to aim, the dart of fate ; 
From you remote, methinks, alone I stand 
Like some sad exile in a desert land ; 
Around no friends their lenient care to join 
In mutual warmth, and mix their heart with mine. 
Or real pains, or those which fancy raise, 
For ever blot the sunshine of my days ; 
To sickness still, and still to grief a prey, 
Health turns from me her rosy face away. 

Just heav'n ! what sin, ere life begins to bloom, 
Devotes my head untimely to the tomb ? 

* Almost all Tibullus's elegy is imitated in this 
little piece, from whence his transition to Mr. 
Pope's letter is very artfully contrived, and be- 
speaks a degree of judgment much beyond Mr. 
West's years. 



MR. GRAY. 109 

Did e'er this hand against a brother's life 

Drug the dire bowl or point the murd'rous knife ? 

Did e'er this tongue the slanderer's tale proclaim, 

Or madly violate my Maker's name ? 

Did e'er this heart betray a friend or foe, 

Or know a thought but all the world might know ? 

As yet just started from the lists of time, 

My growing years have scarcely told their prime ; 

Useless, as yet, through life I've idly run, 

No pleasures tasted, and few duties done. 

* Ah, who, ere autumn's mellowing suns appear, 

Would pluck the promise of the vernal year; 

Or, ere the grapes their purple hue betray, 

Tear the crude cluster from the mourning spray ? 

Stern Power of Fate, whose ebon sceptre rules 

The Stygian deserts and Cimmerian pools, 

Forbear, nor rashly smite my youthful heart, 

A victim yet unworthy of thy dart ; 

Ah, stay till age shall blast my withering face, 

Shake in my head, and falter in my pace ; 

Then aim the shaft, then meditate the blow, 

f And to the dead my willing shade shall go. 

How weak is Man to Reason's judging eye! 
Born in this moment, in the next we die; 
Part mortal clay, and part ethereal fire, 
Too proud to creep, too humble to aspire. 
In vain our plans of happiness we raise, 
Pain is our lot, and patience is our praise ; 

* Quid fraudare juvat vitem crescentibus uvis, 
Et modo nata mala vellere poma manu ? 

So the original. The paraphrase seems to me in- 
finitely more beautiful. There is a peculiar blemish 
in the second line, arising from the syncnimes mala 
and poma. 

t Here he quits Tibullus; the ten following 
verses have but a remote reference to Mr. Pope's 
letter. 



110. MEMOIRS OF 

Wealth, lineage, honours, conquest, or a throne, 
Are what the wise would fear to call their own. 
Health is at best a vain precarious thing, 
And fair-faced youth is ever on the wing ; 
• 'Tis like the stream, beside whose wat'ry bed 
Some blooming plant exalts his flow'ry head ; 
Nursed by the wave the spreading branches rise, 
Shade all the ground and nourish to the skies ; 
The waves the while beneath in secret flow, 
And undermine the hollow bank below ; 
Wide and more wide the waters urge their way, 
Bare all the roots and on their fibres prey. 
Too late the plant bewails his foolish pride, 
And sinks, untimely, in the whelming tide. 

But why repine ? does life deserve my sigh ? 

Few will lament my loss whene'er I die. 

t For those the wretches I despise or hate, 

I neither envy nor regard their fate. 

For me, whene'er all-conquering Death shall spread 

His wings around my unrepining head, 

* ' Youth, at the very best, is but the betrayer 
of human life in a gentler and smoother manner 
than age ; 'tis like the stream that nourishes a 
plant upon a bank, and causes it to flourish and 
blossom to the sight, but at the same time is un- 
dermining it at the root in secret.' — Pope's Works, 
vol. 7, page 254, 1st edit. Warburton. — Mr. West, 
by prolonging his paraphrase of this simile, gives 
it additional beauty from that very circumstance, 
but he ought to have introduced it by Mr. Pope's 
own thought, 'Youth is a betrayer;' his couplet 
preceding the simile conveys too general a re- 
flection. 

f * I am not at all uneasy at the thought that 
many men, whom I never had any esteem for, are 
likely to enjoy this world after me.' — Vide ibid. 



MR. GRAY. Ill 

* I care not ; though this face be seen no more, 
The world will pass as cheerful as before ; 
Bright as before the day-star will appear, 
The fields as verdant, and the skies as clear ; 
Nor storms nor comets will my doom declare, 
Nor signs on earth, nor portents in the air ; 
Unknown and silent will depart my breath, 
Nor Nature e'er take notice of my death. 
Yet some there are (ere spent my vital days) 
Within whose breasts my tomb I wish to raise. 
Loved in my life, lamented in my end, 
Their praise would crown me as their precepts 

mend: 
To them may these fond lines my name endear, 
Not from the Poet but the Friend sincere. 

Christ Church, July 4, 1737. 

* • The morning after my exit the sun will rise 
as bright as ever, the flowers smell as sweet, the 
plants spring as green;' so far Mr. "West copies his 
original, but instead of the following part of the 
sentence, ' People will laugh as heartily and marry 
as fast as they used to do,' he inserts a more so- 
lemn idea, 

Nor storms nor comets, &c. 

justly perceiving that the elegiac turn of his epistle 
would not admit so ludicrous a thought, as was in 
its place in Mr. Pope's familiar letter : so that we 
see, young as he was, he had obtained the art of 
judiciously selecting, one of the first provinces of 
good taste. 



11A MEMOIRS OF 



LETTER VIII. 

MR. GRAY TO MR. WEST. 

AFTER a month's expectation of you, and a fort- 
night's despair, at Cambridge, I am come to town, 
and to better hopes of seeing you. If what you 
sent me last be the product of your melancholy, 
what may I not expect from your more cheerful 
hours ? For by this time the ill health that you 
complain of is (I hope) quite departed; though, if 
I were self-interested, I ought to wish for the con* 
tinuance of any thing that could be the occasion 
of so much pleasure to me. Low spirits are my 
true and faithful companions ; they get up with me, 
go to bed with me, make journeys and returns as 
I do; nay, and pay visits, and will even alfect to 
be jocose, and force a feeble laugh with me ; but 
most commonly we sit alone together, and are the 
prettiest insipid company in the world. However, 
when you come, I believe they must undergo the 
fate of all humble companions, and be discarded. 
Would I could turn them to the same use that you 
have done, and make an Apollo of them. If they 
could write such verses with me, not hartshorn, 
nor spirit of amber, nor all that furnishes the 
closet of an apothecary's widow, should persuade 
me to part with them : but, while I write to you, 
I hear the bad news of Lady Walpole's death on 
Saturday night last. Forgive me if the thought of 
what my poor Horace must feel on that account, 
obliges me to have done in reminding you that I am 
Yours, &c. 
London, Aug. 22 1737. 






MR. GRAY. 113 



LETTER IX. 

MR. GRAY TO MR. WALPOLE. 

I WAS hindered in my last, and so could not give 
you all the trouble I would have done. The 
description of a road, which your coach wheels 
have so often honoured, it would be needless to 
give you; suffice it that I arrived safe *at my 
uncle's, who is a great hunter in imagination ; his 
dogs take up every chair in the house, so I am 
forced to stand at this present writing ; and though 
the gout forbids him galloping after them in the 
field, yet he continues still to regale his ears and 
nose with their comfortable noise and stink. He 
holds me mighty cheap, I perceive, for walking 
when I should ride, and reading when I should 
hunt. My comfort amidst all this is, that I have 
at the distance of half a mile, through a green 
lane, a forest (the vulgar call it a common) all my 
own, at least as good as so, for I spy no human 
thing in it but myself. It is a little chaos of 
mountains and precipices; mountains, it is true, 
that do not ascend much above the clouds, nor are 
the declivities quite so amazing as Dover cliff; bu»t 
just such hills as people who love their necks as 
well as I do may venture to climb, and crags that 
give the eye as much pleasure as if they were more 
dangerous : both vale and hill are covered with 
most venerable beeches, and other very reverend 
vegetables, that, like most other ancient people, 
are always dreaming out their old stories to the 
winds, 

* At Burnham in Buckinghamshire, 



114 MEMOIRS OF 

And as they bow their hoary tops relate, 

In murm'ring sounds, the dark decrees of fate ; 

While visions, as poetic eyes avow, 

Cling to each leaf and swarm on every bough. 

At the foot of one of these squats me I, (il pense- 
roso) and there grow to the trunk for a whole 
morning. The timorous hare and sportive squirrel 
gambol around me like Adam in Paradise, before 
he had an Eve ; but I think he did not use to read 
Virgil, as I commonly do there. In this situation 
I often converse with my Horace, aloud too, that 
is talk to you, but I do not remember that I ever 
heard you answer me. I beg pardon for taking all 
the conversation to myself, but it is entirely your 
own fault. We have old Mr. Southern at a gentle- 
man's house a little way off, who often comes to 
see us ; he is now seventy-seven years old *, and 
has almost wholly lost his memory; but is as 
agreeable as an old man can be, at least I persuade 
myself so when I look at him, and think of 
Isabella and Oroonoko. I shall be in Town in 
about three weeks. Adieu. 
September, 1737. 

* He lived nine years longer, and died at the 
great age of eighty-six. Mr. Gray always thought 
highly of his pathetic powers, at the same time 
that he blamed his ill taste for mixing them so 
injudiciously with farce, in order to produce that 
monstrous species of composition called Tragi- 
comedy. 



MR. GRAY. 115 



LETTER X. 



MR. GRAY TO MR. WALPOLE.* 

I SYMPATHIZE with you in the sufferings which 
you foresee are coming upon you. We are both at 
present, I imagine, in no very agreeable situation ; 
for my part I am under the misfortune of having 
nothing to do, but it is a misfortune which, thank 
my stars, I can pretty well bear. You are in a 
confusion of wine, and roaring, and hunting, and 
tobacco, and, heaven be praised, you too can pretty 
well bear it ; while our evils are no more, I believe 
we shall not much repine. I imagine, however, 
you will rather choose to converse with the living 
dead, that adorn the walls of your apartments, than 
with the dead living that deck the middles of them ; 
and prefer a picture of still life to the realities of 
a noisy one, and, as I guess, will imitate what you 
prefer, and for an hour or two at noon will stick 
yourself up as formal as if -you had been fixed in 
your frame for these hundred years, with a pink or 
rose in one hand, and a great seal ring on the 
other. Your name, I assure you, has been pro- 
pagated in these countries by a convert of yours, 
one * *, he has brought over his whole family to 
you ; they were before pretty good Whigs, but now 
they are absolute Walpolians. We have hardly any 
body in the parish but knows exactly the dimen- 
sions of the hall and saloon at Houghton, and 
begin to believe that the | lantern is not so great 

* At this time with his father at Houghton. Mr. 
Gray writes from the same place he did before, 
from his uncle's house in Buckinghamshire. 

f A favourite object of Tory satire at the time. 



1J6 MEMOIRS OF 

a consumer of the fat of the land as disaffected 
persons have said : for your reputation, we keep 
to ourselves your not hunting nor drinking hogan, 
either of which here would be sufficient to lay 
your honour in the dust. To-morrow se'nnight I 
hope to be in Town, and not long after at Cam- 
bridge. I am, &c. 
Burnham, Sept. 3737. 



LETTER XL 

MR. WEST TO MR. GRAY. 

RECEIVING no answer to my last letter, which 
I writ above a month ago, I must own I am a 
little uneasy. The slight shadow of you which I 
had in Town, has only served to endear you to me 
the more. The moments I passed with you made a 
strong impression upon me. I singled you out 
for a friend, and I would have you know me to be 
yours, if you deem me worthy. — Alas ! Gray, you 
cannot imagine how miserably my time passes 
away. My health, and nerves, and spirits are, 
thank my stars, the very worst, I think, in Oxford. 
Four-and-twenty hours of pure unalloyed health 
together are as unknown to me as the 400,000 
characters in the Chinese vocabulary. One of my 
complaints has of late been so over-civil as to visit 
me regularly once a month — jam certus conviva. 
This is a painful nervous head-ache, which perhaps 
you have sometimes heard me speak of before. 
Give me leave to say, I find no physic comparable 
to your letters. If, as it is said in Ecclesiasticus, 
' Friendship be the physic of the mind,' prescribe 
to me, dear Gray, as often and as much as you 
think proper, I shall be a most obedient patient. 



MR. GRAY. 117 

Non ego 
Fidis irascar medicis, offendar amicis. 

I venture here to write you down a Greek 
epigram *, which I lately turned into Latin, and 
hope you will excuse it. . 

Perspicui puerum ludentem in margine rivi 
Immersit vitrea? limpidus error aquae : 

At gelido ut mater moribundum e flumine traxit 
Credula, et amplexu funus inane fovet ; 

Paulatim puer in dilecto pectore, somno 
Languidus, seternum luniina composuit. 

Adieu ! I am going to my tutor's lectures on one 
Puffendorff, a very jurisprudent author as you 
shall read on a summer's day. 

Believe me yours, &c. 

Christ Church, Dec. 2, 1738. 



LETTER XII. 

MR. GRAY TO MR. WEST. 

LIT ERAS mi Favoni f abs te demum, nudiuster* 
ti&s credo, accepi plane mellitas, nisi forte qua de 

* Of Posidippus. Vide Anthologia, H. Stephan. 
p. 220. Mr. Gray in his MS. notes to this edition 
of the Anthologia (of which I shall give an account 
in a subsequent section) inserts this translation, 
and adds ' Descriptio pulcherrima et quae tenuem 
ilium Grsecorum spiritum mirifice sapit;' and in 
conclusion, « Posidippus inter principes Anthologiae 
poetas emicat; Ptolemsei Philadelphi seculo vixit.' 

i Mr. Gray in all his Latin compositions, ad- 
dressed to this gentleman, calls him Favonius, in 
allusion to the name of West. 



118 MEMOIRS OF 

aegritudine quadam tua dictum: atque hoc sane 
mini habitum est non paulo acerbius, quod te 
capitis morbo implicitum esse intellexi. Oh mor- 
bum mihi quam odiosum ! qui de industria id agit, 
ut ego in singulos menses, Dii boni ! quantis jucun- 
ditatibus orbarer ! quam ex animo mihi dolendum 
est, quod 

Medio de fonte leporum 
Surgit amari aliquid ! 

Salutem, mehercule, nolo, tarn parvipendas, atque 
amicis tarn improbe consulas : quanquam tute for- 
tassis sestuas angusto limite mundi, viamque (ut 
dicitur) affectas Olympo; nos tamen non esse tarn 
sublimes, utpote qui hisce in sordibus et face 
diutius paululum versari volumus, reminiscendum 
est : ilia? tuse Musae, si te ament modo, derelinqui 
paulrsper non nimis segr£ patientur : indulge, amabo 
te, plusquam soles, corporis exercitationibus : ma- 
gis te campus habeat, aprico magis te dedas otio, 
ut ne id ingenium, quod tarn cultum curas, dili- 
genter nimis dum foves, officiosarum matrum ritu, 
interimas. Vide quaeso, quam l&TpiyjjJg tecum 
agimus, 

Y)§ e7TlQfj<7(X) 

®y.plJ.ct."£ a kzv 7ra.v<rrj(ri [isXatva.<j)v oSuvaow* 
si de his pharmacis non satis liquet ; sunt festivi- 
tates merae, sunt facetiae et risus ; quos ego equidem, 
si adhibere nequeo, tamen ad praecipiendum (ut 
medicorum fere mos est) cert^ satis sim : id, quod 
poetice sub flnem epistolae lusisti, mihi gratissimum 
quidem accidit ; admodum Latine coctum et con- 
ditum tetrasticon, Graecam tamen illam a(25sXe/av 
mirific^ sapit : tu, quod restat, vide, sodes, hujusce 
hominis ignorantiam; cum, unde hoc tibi sit de- 
promptum, (ut fatear) prorsus nescio : sane ego 
equidem nihil in capsis reperio quo tibi minima; 
partis solutio fiat. Vale, et me, ut soles, ama. 

A. D. 11 Kalend. Februar. 



MR. GRAY. 119 



, LETTER XIIL* 

MR. WEST TO MR. GRAY. 

I OUGHT to answer you in Latin, but I feel I 
dare not enter the lists with you — cupidum, pater 
optime, vires deficiunt. Seriously you write in 
that language with a grace and an Augustan ur- 
banity that amazes me: your Greek too is perfect 
in its knid. And here let me wonder that a man, 
long£ Grsecorum doctissimus, should be at a loss 
for the verse and chapter whence my epigram is 
taken. I am sorry I have not my Aldus with me, 
that I might satisfy your curiosity; but he with 
all my other literary folks are left at Oxford, and 
therefore you must still rest in suspense. I thank 
you again and again for your medical prescription. 
I know very well that those ' risus, festivitates et 
facetiae' would contribute greatly to my cure, but 
then you must be my apothecary as well-as phy- 
sician, and make up the dose as well as direct it ; 
send me, therefore, an electuary of these drugs, 
made up * secundum artem, et eris mihi magnus 
Apollo,' in both his capacities as a god of poets 
and god of physicians. Wish me joy of leaving 
my college, and leave yours as fast as you can. I 
shall be settled at the Temple very soon. 
Dartmouth-street, Feb. 21, 1737-8. 

* This was written in French, but as I doubted 
whether it would stand the test of polite criticism 
so well as the preceding would of learned, I chose 
to translate so much of it as I thought necessary in 
order to preserve the chain of correspondence. 



120 MEMOIRS OF 



LETTER XIV. 

MR. GRAY TO MR. WEST. 

* BARBARAS sedes aditure mecum 
Quas Eris semper fovet inquieta, 
Lis ubi late sonat, et togatum 

^Estuat agmen ! 

Dulcius quanto, patulis sub ulmi 
Hospitae ramis temere jacentem 
Sic libris horas, tenuiq; inertes 

Fallere Musk ? 

Saepe enim curis vagor expedita 

Mente; dum, blandam meditans Camcenam, 

Vix malo rori, meminive serae 

Cedere nooti ; 

Et, pedes quo me rapiunt, in omni 
Colle Parnassum videor videre 
Fertilem sylvae, gelidamq; in omni 

Fonte Aganippen. 

Risit et Ver me, facilesq; Nympha? 
Nare captantem, nee ineleganti, 
Mane quicquid de violis eundo 

Surripit aura : 

* I choose to call this delicate Sapphic Ode the 
first original production of Mr. Gray's Muse ; for 
verses imposed either by schoolmasters or tutors 
ought not, I think, to be taken into the consider- 
ation. There is seldom a verse that flows well 
from the pen of a real poet if it does not flow 
voluntarily. 



MR. GRAY. 121 

Me reclinatum teneram per herbara ; 
Qua leves cursus aqua cunque ducit, 
Et moras dulci strepitu lapillo 

Nectit in omni. 

Hae novo nostrum fere pectus anno 
Simplices curse tenuere, coelum 
Quamdih sudum explicuit Favoni 
Purior hora : 

Otia et campos nee adhuc relinquo, 
Nee magis Phcebo Clytie fidelis ; 
(Ingruant venti licet, et senescat 

Mollior aestas.) 

Namque, seu, laetos hominum labores 
Prataq; et montes recreante curru, 
Purpura tractus oriens Eoos 

Vestit, et auro ; 

Sedulus servo veneratus orbem 
Prodigum splendoris : amseniori 
Sive dilectam meditatur igne 

Pingere Calpen ; 

Usque dum, fulgore mag is magis jam 
Languido circum, variata rmbes 
l.abitur furtim, viridisq; in umbras 
Scena recessit. 

O ego felix, vice si (nee unquam. 
Surgerem rursus) simili cadentem 
Parca me lenis sineret quieto 

Fallere Letho ! 

Multa flagranti radiisq; cincto 
Integris ah ! quam nihil inviderem, 
Cum Dei ardentes medius quadrigas 
Sen tit Olympus ? 
G 



B@U MEMOIRS OF 

Ohe ! amicule noster, et unde, sodes tu yuoucro- 
7r<xT<x.KTog adeo repente evasisti ? jam te rogitatu- 
rimi credo. Nescio hercle, sic plane habet. Quic- 
quid enim nugarum Im cr^oXrjg inter ambulandum 
in palimpsesto scriptitavi, hisce te maxume im- 
pertiri visum est, quippe quern probare, quod 
meum est, aut certe ignoscere solitum probe novi : 
bona tua venia sit si forte videar in fine subtris- 
tior ; nam risui jamdudum salutem dixi ; etiam 
paulo moestitias studiosiorem factum scias, promp- 
tumque, Ka/vo?; wixKaict. Zuytpvotg wkvuv x«xa. 

O lachrymarum fons, tenero sacros 
Ducentium ortus ex animo ; quater 
Felix ! in imo qui scatentem 
Pectore te, pia Nympha, sensit. 

Sed de me satis. Cura ut valeas, 
Jun. J 738. 



LETTER XV. 

MR. WEST TO MR. GRAY. 

I RETURN you a thousand thanks for your 
elegant ode, and wish you every joy you wish 
yourself in it. But, take my word for it, you will 
never spend so agreeable a day here as you de- 
scribe ; alas I the sun with us only rises to show us 
the way to Westminster-Hall. Nor must I forget 
thanking you for your little Alca ; c fragment. The 
optic Naiads are infinitely obliged to you. 

I was last weak at Richmond Lodge, with Mr. 
Walpole, for two days, and dined with * Cardinal 
Fleury : as far as my short sight can go, the cha- 

* Sir Robert Walpole. 



MR. GRAY. 123 

racter of his great art and penetration is very just; 
he is indeed 

Nulli penetrabilis astro. 

I go to-morrow to Epsom, where I shall be for 
about a month. Excuse me, I am in haste *, but 

believe me always, &e. 
August 29, 1?38. 



LETTER XVI. 

MR. GRAY TO MR. WALPOLE. 

MY dear sir, I should say f Mr. Inspector General 
of the Exports and Imports ; but that appellation 
would make but an odd figure in conjunction with 
the three familiar monosyllables above written, for 

Non bene conveniunt nee in una sede morantur 
Majestas et amor. 

Which is, being interpreted, Love does not live at 
the Custom-house; however, by what style, title, 
or denomination soever you choose to be dignified 

* Mr. West seems to have been, indeed, in h&ste 
when he writ this letter ; else, surely, his fine taste 
would have led him to have been more profuse in 
his praise of the Alcaic fragment. He might (I 
think) have said, without paying too extravagant a 
compliment to Mr. Gray's genius, that no poet of 
the Augustan age ever produced four more perfect 
lines, or what would sooner impose upon the best 
critic, as being a genuine ancient composition. 

f Mr. Walpole was just named to that post, 
which he exchanged soon after for that of Usher 
of the Exchequer. 



124 MEMOIRS OF 

or distinguished hereafter, these three words will 
stick by you like a burr, and you can no more get 
quit of these and your christian name than St. 
Anthony could of his pig. My motions at present 
(which you are pleased to ask after) are much like 
those of a pendulum or (* Dr. Longically speaking) 
oscillatory. I swing from Chapel or Hall home, 
and from home to Chapel or Hall. All the strange 
incidents that happen in my journeys and returns I 
shall be sure to acquaint you with ; the most won- 
derful is, that it now rains exceedingly ; this has 
refreshed the f prospect, as the way for the most 
part lies between green fields on either hand, ter- 
minated with buildings at some distance, castles, I 
presume, and of great antiquity. The roads are 
very good, being, as I suspect, the works of Julius 
Cassar's army, for they still preserve, in many 
places, the appearance of a pavement in pretty 
good repair, and, if they were not so near home, 
might perhaps be as much admired as the Via 
Appia ; there are at present several rivulets to be 
crossed, and which serve to enliven the view all 
around. The country is exceeding fruitful in ra- 
vens and such black cattle; but, not to tire you 
with my travels, I abruptly conclude. 

Yours, &c. 
August 1738. 

* Dr. Long, the master of Pembroke-Hall, at 
this time read lectures in experimental philosophy. 

t All that follows is a humorously hyperbolic 
description of the quadrangle of Peter-House. 



MR. GRAY. 125 



LETTER XVII. 

MR. GRAY TO MR. WEST. 

I AM coming away all so fast, and leaving behind 
me, without the least remorse, all the beauties of 
Sturbridge Fair. Its white bears may roar, its 
apes may wring their hands, and crocodiles cry 
their eyes out, all 's one for that ; I shall not once 
visit them, nor so much as take my leave. The 
university has published a severe edict against 
schismatical congregations, and created half a dozen 
new little procterlings to see its orders executed, 
being under mighty apprehensions lest * Henley 
and his gilt tub should come to the fair and 
seduce their young ones : but their pains are to 
small purpose, for lo, after all, he is not coming, 

I am at this instant in the very agonies of 
leaving college, and would not wish the worst of 
ray enemies a worse situation. If you knew the 
dust, the old boxes, the bedsteads, and tutors that 
are about my ears, you would look upon this letter 
as a great effort of my resolution and unconcerned- 
ness in the midst of evils. I fill up my paper with 
a loose sort of version of that scene in Pastor Fido 
that begins, Care selve beati f. 

Sept. 1738. 

* Orator Henley. 

f This Latin version is extremely elegiac, but as 
it is only a version, I do not insert it. Mr. Gray 
did not begin to learn Italian till about a year and 
a half before he translated this scene ; and I find 
amongst his papers an English translation of part 
of the 4th Canto of Tasso's Gerusalemma Liberata, 
done previously to this, which has great merit. In 
a letter to Mr. West, dated March, l?37> he says, 



126 MEMOIRS OF 



LETTER XVIII. 



MR. WEST TO MR. GRAY. 

I THANK you again and again for your two last 
most agreeable letters. They could not have come 
more a-propos ; I was without any hooks to divert 
me, and they supplied the want of every thing : I 
made them my classics in the country ; they were 
my Horace and Tibullus — Non ita loquor assen- 
tandi causa ut probe nosti si me noris, verum quia 
sic mea est sententia. I am but just come to town, 
and, to show you my esteem of your favours, I 
venture to send you by the penny post, to your 
father's, what you will find on the next page ; I 
hope it will reach you soon after your arrival, 

' I learn Italian like any dragon, and in two 
months am got through the l6th book of Tasso, 
whom I hold in great admiration : I want you to 
learn too, that I may know your opinion of him ; 
nothing can be easier than that language to any 
one who knows Latin and French already, and 
there are few so copious and expressive.' In the 
same letter he tells him, ' that his College has set 
him a versifying on a public occasion,' (viz. those 
verses which are called Tripus) ' on the theme of 
Luna est habitabilis.' The Poem, I believe, is to 
be found in the Musae Etonenses. I would further 
observe, on this occasion, that though Mr. Gray 
had lately read and translated Statius, yet when he 
attempted composition, his judgment immediately 
directed him to the best model of versification; 
accordingly his hexameters are, as far as modern 
ones can be, after the manner of Virgil : they 
move in the succession of his pauses, and close 
with his elisions. 



MR. GRAY. 127 

your boxes out of the waggon, yourself out of the 
coach, and tutors out of your memory. 

Adieu; we shall see one another, I hope, to- 
morrow. 

ELEGIA. 

Quod mihi tam grata? misisti dona Camoenae, 

Qualia Maenalius Pan Deus ipse velit, 
Amplector te, Graie, et toto corde reposco, 
Oh desiderium jam nimis usque meum: 
Et mihi rura plaeent, et me qnoq; saepe volentem 

Duxerunt Dryades per sua prata Dese ; 
Sicubi lympha fugit liquido pede, sive virentem, 
Magna deeus nemoris, quercus opacat humum : 
Illuc mane novo vagor, illue vespere sero, 

Et, noto ut jacui gramine, nota cano. 
Nee nostras ignorant divinam Amaryllida sylva? : 

Ah, si desit amor, nil mihi rura plaeent. 
Ille jugis habitat Deus, ille in vallibus imis, 

Regnat et in Ccelis, regnat et Oceano ; 
Ille gregem taurosq; domat ; saeviq; leonem 
Seminis; ille feros, ultus Adonin, apros: 
Quin et fervet amore nemus, ramoq; sub omni 

Concentu tremulo plurima gaudet avis. 
Dura? etiam in sylvis agitant connubia plantae, 

Dura etiam et fertur saxa animasse Venus. 
Durior et saxis, et robore durior ille est, 

Sincero siquis peetore amare vetat : 
Non illi in manibus sanctum deponere pignus, 

Non illi arcanum cor aperire velim; 
Nescit amicitias, teneros qui nescit amores : 

Ah ! si nulla Venus, nil mihi rura plaeent. 
Me licet a patria longe in tellure juberent 

Externa positum ducere fata dies ; 
Si vultus modo amatus adesset, non ego contra 
Plorarem magnos voce querente Deos. 
I At dulci in gremio curarum oblivia ducens 
Nil cuperem praeter posse placere meae ; 
Nee bona fortunae aspiciens, neq; munera regum, 
Ilia intra optarem brachia cara mori. 

Sept. 17, 1738. 



128 MEMOIRS OF MR. GRAY. 



Mr. Gray, on his return to town, continued at 
his father's house in Cornhill till the March fol- 
lowing, in which interval Mr. Walpole being dis- 
inclined to enter so early into the business of par- 
liament, prevailed on Sir Robert Walpole to permit 
him to go abroad, and on Mr. Gray (as was- said 
before) to be the companion of his travels. Mr. 
West spent the greatest part of the winter with his 
mother and sister at Epsom, during which time a 
letter or two more passed between the two friends. 
But these I think it unnecessary to insert, as I 
have already given sufficient specimens of the 
blossoms of their genius. The reader of taste and 
candour will, I trust, consider them only as such ; 
yet will be led to think that, as the one produced 
afterwards • fruits worthy of paradise,' the other 
would also have produced them, had he lived to a 
more mature age. 



END OF THE FIRST SECTION. 



129 



SECTION II. 



AS I allot this section entirely to that part of Mr. 
Gray's life, which he spent in travelling through 
France and Italy, my province will be chiefly that 
of an editor; and my only care to select from a 
large collection of letters written to his parents and 
to his friend Mr. West, those parts which, I ima- 
gine, will be most likely either to inform or amuse 
the reader. The multiplicity of accounts, pub- 
lished, both before and after the time when these 
letters were written, of those very places which 
Mr. Gray describes, will necessarily take from them 
much of their novelty ; yet the elegant ease of his 
epistolary style has a charm in it for all readers of 
true taste, that will make every apology of this 
sort needless. They will perceive, that as these 
letters were written without even the most distant 
view of publication, they are essentially different 
in their manner of description from any others that 
have either preceded or followed them; add to 
this, that they are interspersed occasionally with 
some exquisitely finished pieces of Latin poetry, 
which he composed on the spot for the entertain- 
ment of his friend. But not to anticipate any 
part of the reader's pleasure, I shall only further 
say, to forewarn him of a disappointment, that 
this correspondence is defective towards the end, 
and includes no description either of Venice or its 
territory ; the last places which Mr. Gray visited. 
This defect was occasioned by an unfortunate dis- 
agreement between him and Mr. Walpole, arising 

G 2 



150 MEMOIRS OF 

from the difference of their tempers. The former 
being, from his earliest years, curious, pensive, 
and philosophical ; the latter gay, lively, and, con- 
sequently, inconsiderate : * this therefore occasioned 
their separation at Reggio, Mr. Gray went before 
him to Venice; and staying there only till he could 
find means of returning to England, he made the 
best of his way home, repassing the Alps, .and 
following almost the same route through France 
by which he had before gone to Italy. 



LETTER I. 



MR. GRAY TO HIS MOTHER. 

Amiens, April 1, N. S. 1739- 
AS we made but a very short journey to-day* and 
came to our inn early, I sit down to give you some 
account of our expedition. On the 29th (according 
to the style here) we left Dover at twelve at noon, 
and with a pretty brisk gale, which pleased every 
body mighty well, except myself, who was ex- 
tremely sick the whole time, we reached Calais by 
five: the weather changed, and it began to snow 
hard the minute we got into the harbour, where 

* In justice to the memory of so respectable a 
friend, Mr. Walpole enjoins me to charge himself 
with the chief blame in their quarrel; confessing 
that more attention and complaisance, more defer- 
ence to a warm friendship, superior judgment and 
prudence, might have prevented a rupture that 
gave much uneasiness to them both, and a lasting 
concern to the survivor; though in the year 1744 
a reconciliation was effected between them, by a 
lady who wished well to both parties. 



MR. GRAY. 131 

we took the boat, and soon landed. Calais is an 
exceeding old, but very pretty town, and we hardly 
saw any thing there that was not so new and so 
different from England, that it surprised us agree- 
ably. We went the next morning to the great 
church, and were at high mass (it being Easter 
Monday). We saw also the convent of the Ca- 
puchins, and the Nuns of St. Dominic ; with these 
last v/e held much conversation, especially with an 
English Nun, a Mrs. Davis, of whose work I sent 
you, by the return of the pacquet, a letter-case to 
remember her by. In the afternoon we took a 
post-chaise (it still snowing very hard) for Bou- 
logne, which was only eighteen miles further. This 
chaise is a strange sort of conveyance, of much 
greater use than beauty, resembling an ill-shaped 
chariot, only with the door opening before instead 
of the side ; three horses draw it, one between the 
shafts, and the other two on each side, on one of 
which the postillion rides, and drives too * : this 
vehicle will, upon occasion, go fourscore miles a 
day, but Mr. Walpole, being in no hurry, chooses 
to make easy journeys of it, and they are easy ones 
indeed; for the motion is much like that of a 
sedan : we go about six miles an hour, and com- 
monly change horses at the end of it: it is true 
they are no very graceful steeds, but they go well, 
and through roads which they say are bad for 
France, but to me they seem gravel walks and 
bowling-greens; in short, it would be the finest 
travelling in the world, were it not for the inns, 
which are mostly terrible places indeed. But to 
describe our progress somewhat more regularly, we 
came into Boulogne when it was almost dark, and 
went out pretty early on Tuesday morning ; so 
that all I can say about it is, that it is a large, old, 

* This was before the introduction of post-chaises 
here, else it would not have appeared a circum- 
stance worthy notice. 



132 MEMOIRS OF 

fortified town, with more English in it than French. 
On Tuesday we were to go to Abbeville, seventeen 
leagues, or fifty-one short English miles; but by 
the way we dined at Montreuil, much to our hearts' 
content, on stinking mutton cutlets, addled eggs, 
and ditch water. Madame the hostess made her 
appearance in long lappets of bone lace and a sack 
of linseywoolsey. We supped and lodged pretty 
well at Abbeville, and had time to see a little of it 
before we came out this morning. There are 
seventeen convents in it, out of which we saw the 
chapels of the Minims and the Carmelite Nuns. 
We are now come further thirty miles to Amiens, 
the chief city of the province of Picardy. We 
have seen the cathedral, which is just what that of 
Canterbury must have been before the reformation. 
It is about the same size, a huge Gothic building, 
beset on the outside with thousands of small statues, 
and within adorned with beautiful painted windows, 
and a vast number of chapels dressed out in all 
their finery of altar-pieces, embroidery, gilding, 
and marble. Over the high altar are preserved, in 
a very large wrought shrine of massy gold, the 
relics of St. Firmin, their patron saint. We went 
also to the chapels of the Jesuits and Ursuline 
Nuns, the latter of which is very richly adorned. 
To-morrow we shall lie at Clermont, and next day 
reach Paris. The country we have passed through 
hitherto has been flat, open, but agreeably diversi- 
fied with villages, fields well-cultivated, and little 
rivers. On every hillock is a windmill, a crucifix, 
or a Virgin Mary dressed in flowers, and a sarcenet 
robe ; one sees not many people or carriages on the 
road; now and then indeed you meet a strolling 
friar, a countryman with his great muff, or a wo- 
man riding astride on a little ass, with short petti- 
coats, and a great head-dress of blue wool. * * * 



MR. GRAY. 135 



LETTER II. 

MR. GRAY TO MR. WEST. 

Paris, April 12, 173Q. 
ENFIN done me voici a Paris. Mr. Walpole is 
gone out to supper at Lord Conway's, and here I 
remain alone, though invited too. Do not think 
I make a merit of writing to you preferably to a 
good supper ; for these three days we have been 
here have actually given me an aversion to eating in 
general. If hunger be the best sauce to meat, the 
French are certainly the worst cooks in the world ; 
for what tables we have seen have been so delicately 
served, and so profusely, that, after risiDg from 
one of them, one imagines it impossible ever to eat 
again. And now, if I tell you all I have in my 
head, you will believe me mad, mais n'importe, 
courage, allons ! for if I wait till my head grow 
clear and settle a little, you may stay long enough 
for a letter. Six days have we been coming hither, 
which other people do in two ; they have not been 
disagreeable ones; through a fine, open country, 
admirable roads, and in an easy conveyance: the 
inns not absolutely intolerable, and images quite 
unusual presenting themselves on all hands. At 
Amiens we saw the fine cathedral, and eat pate de 
perdix ; passed through the park of Chantilly by 
the Duke of Bourbon's palace, which we only 
beheld as we passed ; broke down at Lausarche ; 
stopped at St. Denis, saw all the beautiful monu- 
ments of the Kings of France, and the vast trea- 
sures of the abbey, rubies, and emeralds as big as 
small eggs, crucifixes, and vows, crowns and re- 
liquaries, of inestimable value; but of all their 
curiosities the thing the most to our tastes, and 



134 MEMOIRS OF 

which they indeed do the justice to esteem the 
glory of their collection, was a vase of an entire 
onyx, measuring at least five inches over, three 
deep, and of great thickness. It is at least two 
thousand years old ; the beauty of the stone and 
sculpture upon it (representing the mysteries of 
Bacchus) beyond expression admirable : we have 
dreamed of it ever since. The jolly old Benedic- 
tine, that showed us the treasures, had in his youth 
been ten years a soldier ; he laughed at all the 
relics, was very full of stories, and mighty obliging. 
On Saturday evening we got to Paris, and were 
driving through the streets a long while before we 
knew where we were. The minute we came, voila 
Milors Holdernesse, Conway, and his brother ; all 
stayed supper, and till two o'clock in the morning, 
for here nobody ever sleeps ; it is not the way : 
next day go to dine at my Lord Holdernesse's ; there 
was the Abbe Prevot, author of the Cleveland, and 
several other pieces much esteemed : the rest were 
English. At night we went to the Pandore; a 
spectdcle literally, for it is nothing but a beautiful 
piece of machinery of three scenes. The first re- 
presents the chaos, and by degrees the separation 
of the elements. The second, the temple of Jupiter, 
and the giving of the box to Pandora. The third, 
the opening of the box, and all the mischiefs that 
ensued. An absurd design, but executed in the 
highest perfection, and that in one of the finest 
theatres in the world; it is the grande salle des 
machines in the Palais des Tuilleries. Next day 
dined at Lord Waldegrave's ; then to the opera. 
Imagine to yourself for the drama four acts * en- 
tirely unconnected with each other, each founded 
on some little history, skilfully taken 4 out of an 

* The French opera has only three acts, but 
often a prologue on a different subject, which (as 
Mr. Walpole informs me, who saw it at the same 
time) was the case in this very representation. 



MR. GRAY. 135 

ancient author, e. g. Ovid's Metamorphoses, &e. 
and with great address converted into a French 
piece of gallantry. For instance, that which I saw, 
called the Ballet de la Paix, had its first act built 
upon the story of Nireus. Homer having said he 
was the handsomest man of his time, the poet, 
imagining such a one could not want a mistress, 
has given him one. These two come in and sing 
sentiment in lamentable strains, neither air nor 
recitative; only, to one's great joy, they are every 
now and then interrupted by a dance, or (to one's 
great sorrow) by a chorus that borders the stage 
from one end to the other, and screams, past all 
power of simile to represent. The second act was 
Baucis and Philemon. Baucis is a beautiful young 
shepherdess, and Philemon her swain. Jupiter falls 
in love with her, but nothing will prevail upon 
her ; so it is all mighty well, and the chorus ^ing 
and dance the praises of Constancy. The two 
other acts were about Iphis and lanthe, and the 
judgment of Paris. Imagine, I say, all this trans- 
acted by cracked voices, trilling divisions upon 
two notes and a half, accompanied by an orchestra 
of humstrums, and a whole house more attentive 
than if Farinelli sung, and you will almost have 
formed a just notion of the thing *. Our astonish- 
ment at their absurdity you can never conceive ; 
we had enough to do to express it by screaming an 
hour louder than the whole dramatis personae. We 
have also seen twice the Comedie Francoise ; • first, 
the Mahomet Second, a tragedy that has had a 

* Our author's sentiments here seem to cor- 
respond entirely with those which J. J. Rousseau 
afterwards published in his famous Lettre sur la 
Musique Fran9oise. In a French letter also, which 
Mr. Gray writ to his friend soon after this, he calls 
their music « des miaulemens et des heurlemens 
effroyables, meles avee un tintamarre du diable; 
voila la musique Francoise en abregeV 



136 MEMOIRS OF 

great run of late ; and the thing itself does not 
want its beauties, but the actors are beyond measure 
delightful. Mademoiselle Gaussin (M. Voltaire's 
Zara) has with a charming (though little) person 
the most pathetic tone of voice, the finest expres- 
sion in her face, and most proper action imagina- 
ble. There is also a Dufrene, who did the chief 
character, a handsome man and a prodigious fine 
actor. The second we saw was the Philosophe 
marie, and here they performed as well in comedy ; 
there is a Mademoiselle Quinault, somewhat in 
Mrs. Clive's way, and a Monsieur Grandval, in the 
nature of Wilks, who is the genteelest thing in the 
world. There are several more would be much 
admired in England, and many (whom we have 
not seen) much celebrated here. Great part of our 
time is spent in seeing churches and palaces full 
of fine pictures, &c. the quarter of which is not yet 
exhausted. For my part. I could entertain myself 
this month merelv with the common streets and 
the people in them. * * * 



LETTER III. 

MR. GRAY TO MR. WEST. 

Paris, May 22, 1739. 
AFTER the little particulars aforesaid I should 
have proceeded to a journal of our transactions for 
this week past, should have carried you post from 
hence to Versailles, hurried you through the gar- 
dens to Trianon, back again to Paris, so away to 
Chantilly. But the fatigue is perhaps more than 
you can bear, and moreover I think I have reason 
to stomach your last piece of gravity. Supposing 



MR. GRAY. 137 

you were in your soberest mood, I am sorry you 
should think me capable of ever being so dissipe, 
so evapore, as not to be in a condition of relishing 
any thing you could say to me. And now, if you 
have a mind to make your peace with me, arouse 
ye from your megrims and your melancholies, and 
(for exercise is good for you) throw away your 
night-cap, call for your jack-boots, and set out 
with me, last Saturday evening, for Versailles — 
and so at eight o'clock, passing through a road 
speckled with vines, and villas, and hares, and 
partridges, we arrive at the great avenue, flanked 
on either hand with a double row of trees about 
half a mile long, and with the palace itself to ter- 
minate the view; facing which, on each side of 
you, is placed a semi-circle of very handsome 
buildings, which form the stables. These we will 
not enter into, because you know we are no jockeys* 
Well ! and is this the great front of Versailles ? 
What a huge heap of littleness ! It is composed, as 
it were, of three courts, all open to the eye at 
once, and gradually diminishing till you come to 
the royal apartments, which on this side present 
but half a dozen windows and a balcony. This 
last is all that can be called a front, for the rest is 
only great wings. The hue of all this mass is 
black, dirty red, and yellow ; the first proceeding 
from stone changed by age ; the second, from a 
mixture of brick ; and the last, from a profusion 
of tarnished gilding. You cannot see a more dis- 
agreeable tout-ensemble ; and, to finish the matter, 
it is all stuck over in many places with small busts 
of a tawny hue between every two windows. We 
pass through this to go into the garden, and here 
the case is indeed altered; nothing can be vaster 
and more magnificent than the back front ; before 
it a very spacious terrace spreads itself, adorned 
; with two large basins ; these are bordered and lined 
(as most of the others) with white marble, with 
handsome statues of bronze reclined on their edges. 



138 MEMOIRS OF 

From hence you descend a huge flight of steps 
into a semi-circle formed by woods, that are cut all 
round into niches, which are filled with beautiful 
copies of all the famous antique statues in white 
marble. Just in the midst is the basin of Latona ; 
she and her children are standing on the top of a 
rock in the middle, on the sides of which are the 
peasants, some half, some totally changed into 
frogs, all which throw out water at her in great 
plenty. From this place runs on the great alley, 
which brings you into a complete round, where is 
the basin of Apollo, the biggest in the gardens. 
He is rising in his car out of the water, surrounded 
by nymphs and tritons, all in bronze, and finely 
executed, and these, as they play, raise a perfect 
storm about him ; beyond this is the great canal, 
a prodigious long piece of water, that terminates 
the whole: all this you have at one coup d'ceil in 
entering the garden, which is truly great. I can- 
not say as much of the general taste of the place ; 
every thing you behold savours too much of art ; 
all is forced, all is constrained about you ; statues 
and vases sowed every where without distinction ; 
sugar-loaves and minced-pies of yew ; scrawl- work 
of box, and little squirting jets-d'eau, besides a 
great sameness in the walks, cannot help striking 
one at first sight, not to mention the silliest of 
labyrinths, and all yEsop's fables in water; since 
these were designed in usum Delphini only. Here 
then we walk by moonlight, and hear the ladies 
and the nightingales sing. Next morning, being 
Whitsunday, make ready to go to the Installation 
of nine Knights du Saint Esprit ; Cambis is one • : 
high mass celebrated with music, great crowd, 
much incense, King, Queen, Dauphin, Mesdames, 
Cardinals, and Court : Knights arrayed by his ma- 
jesty; reverences before the altar, not bows, but 

* The Comte de Cambis was lately returned 
from his embassy in England. 



MR. GRAY. 139 

curtsies; stiff hams; much tittering among the 
ladies ; trumpets, kettle-drums, and fifes. My dear 
West, I am vastly delighted with Trianon, all of 
us with Chantilly ; if you would know why, you 
must have patience, for I can hold my pen no 
longer, except to tell you that I saw Britannicus 
last night; all the characters, particularly Agrip- 
pina and Nero, done to perfection; to-morrow 
Phasdra and Hippolitus. We are making you a 
little bundle of petites pieces ; there is nothing in 
them, but they are acting at present; there are too 
Crebillon's Letters, and Amusemens sur le langage 
des Betes, said to be of one Bougeant, a Jesuit ; 
they are both esteemed, and lately come out. This 
day se'nnight we go to Rheims. 



LETTER IV. 

MR. GRAY TO HIS MOTHER. 

Rheims, June 21, N. S. 17"9- 
WE have now been settled almost three weeks in 
this city, which is more considerable upon account 
of its size and antiquity, than from the number of 
its inhabitants, or any advantages of commerce. 
There is little in it worth a stranger's curiosity, 
besides the cathedral church, which is a vast Gothic 
building of a surprising beauty and lightness, all 
covered over with a profusion of little statues, and 
other ornaments. It is here the Kings of France 
are crowned by the Archbishop of Rheims, who is 
the first peer, and the primate of the kingdom: 
the holy vessel made use of on that occasion, which 
contains the oil, is kept in the church of St. Ni- 
casius hard by, and is believed to have been brought 



140 MEMOIRS OF 

by an angel from heaven at the coronation of 
Clovis, the first christian king. The streets in 
general have but a melancholy aspect, the houses 
all old ; the public walks run along the side of a 
great moat under the ramparts, where one hears a 
continual croaking of frogs ; the country round 
about is one great plain covered with vines, which 
at this time of the year afford no very pleasing 
prospect, as being not above a foot high. What 
pleasures the place denies to the sight, it makes 
up to the palate ; since you have nothing to drink 
but the best champaigne in the world, and all sort 
of provisions equally good. As to other pleasures, 
there is not that freedom of conversation among 
the people of fashion here, that one sees in other 
parts of France; for though they are not very 
numerous in this place, and consequently must live 
a good deal together, yet they never come to any 
great familiarity with one another. As my Lord 
Conway had spent a good part of his time among 
them, his brother, and we with him, were soon 
introduced into all their assemblies : as soon as you 
enter, the lady of the house presents each of you a 
card, and offers you a party at quadrille ; you sit 
down, and play forty deals without intermission, 
excepting one quarter of an hour, when every body 
rises to eat of what they call the gouter, which 
supplies the place of our tea, and is a service of 
wine, fruits, cream, sweetmeats, crawfish, and 
cheese. People take what they like, and sit down 
again to play ; after that, they make little parties 
to go to the walks together, and then all the com- 
pany retire to their separate habitations. Very 
seldom any suppers or dinners are given ; and this 
is the manner they live among one another; not 
so much out of any aversion they have to pleasure, 
as out of a sort of formality they have contracted 
by not being much frequented by people who have 
lived at Paris. It is sure they do not hate gaiety 
any more than the rest of their country-people, 



MR. GRAY. 141 

and can enter into diversions, that are once pro- 
posed, with a good grace enough ; for instance, 
the other evening we happened to be got together 
in a company of eighteen people, men and women 
of the best fashion here, at a garden in the town to 
walk ; when one of the ladies bethought herself of 
asking, ' Why should not we sup here ?' Imme- 
diately the cloth was laid by the side of a fountain 
under the trees, and a very elegant supper served 
up ; after which another said, ' Come, let us sing ;' 
and directly began herself : from singing we in- 
sensibly fell to dancing, and singing in a round; 
when somebody mentioned the violins, and imme- 
diately a company of them was ordered: minuets 
were begun in the open air, and then came country- 
dances, which held till four o'clock next morning ; 
at which hour the gayest lady there proposed, that 
such as were weary should get into their coaches, 
and the rest of them should dance before them 
with the music in the van ; and in this manner we 
paraded through all the principal streets of the 
city, and waked every body in it. Mr. Walpole 
had a mind to make a custom of the thing, and 
would have given a ball in the same manner next 
week, but the women did not come into it; so I 
believe it will drop, and they will return to their 
dull cards, and usual formalities. We are not 
to stay above a month longer here, and shall then 
go to Dijon, the chief city of Burgundy, a very 
splendid and a very gay town; at least such is the 
present design. 



142 MEMOIRS OF 



LETTER V. 



MR. GRAY TO HIS FATHER. 

Dijon, Friday, Sept. 11, N. S. 1739. 
WE have made three short days' journey of it from 
Rheims hither, where we arrived the night before 
last: the road we have passed through has been 
extremely agreeable: it runs through the most 
fertile part of Champaigne by the side of the river 
Marae, with a chain of hills on each hand at some 
distance, entirely covered with woods and vine- 
yards, and every now and then the ruins of some 
old castle on their tops ; we lay at St. Dizier the 
first night, and at Langres the second, and got 
hither the next evening time enough to have a 
full view of this city in entering it : it lies in a 
very extensive plain covered with vines and corn, 
and consequently is plentifully supplied with both. 
I need not tell you that it is the chief city of Bur- 
gundy, nor that it is of great antiquity ; considering 
which, one should imagine it ought to be larger 
than one finds it. However, what it wants in ex- 
tent is made up in beauty and cleanliness, and in 
rich convents and churches, most of which we have 
seen. The palace of the States is a magnificent 
new building, where the Duke of Bourbon is 
lodged when he comes every three years to hold 
that assembly, as governor of the province. A 
quarter of a mile out of the town is a famous 
abbey of Carthusians, which we are just returned 
from seeing. In their chapel are the tombs of the 
ancient Dukes of Burgundy, that were so powerful, 
till at the death of Charles the Bold, the last of 
them, this part of his dominions was united by 
Lewis XI. to the crown of France. To-morrow 



MR. GRAY. 143 

we are to pay a visit to the abbot of the Cister- 
cians, who lives a few leagues off, and who uses to 
receive all strangers with great civility ; his abbey 
is one of the richest in the kingdom ; he keeps 
open house always, and lives with great magni- 
ficence. We have seen enough of this town already, 
to make us regret the time we spent at Rheims ; 
it is full of people of condition, who seem to form 
a much more agreeable society than we found in 
Champaigne ; but as we shall stay here but two or 
three days longer, it is not worth while to be in- 
troduced into their houses. On Monday or Tues- 
day we are to set out for Lyons, which is two days' 
journey distant, and from thence you shall hear 
again from me. 



LETTER VI. 



MR. GRAY TO MR. WEST. 

Lyons, Sept. 18, N. S. 1739. 
SCAVEZ vous bien, mon cher ami, que je vous 
hais, que je vous deteste ? voila des termes un peu 
fortes; and that will save me, upon a just com- 
putation, a page of paper and six drops of ink ; 
which, if I confined myself to reproaches of a more 
moderate nature, I should be obliged to employ in 
using you according to your deserts. What ! to 
let any body reside three months at Rheims, and 
write but once to them ? Flease to consult Tully 
de Amicit. page 5, line 25, and you will find it said 
in express terms, * Ad amicum inter Remos relega- 
tum mense uno quinquies scriptum esto ;' nothing 
more plain, or less liable to false interpretations^ 
Now because, I suppose, it will give you pain to 



144 MEMOIRS OF 

know we are in being, I take this opportunity to 
tell you that we are at the ancient and celebrated 
Lugdunum, a city situated upon the confluence of 
the Rhone and Saone (Arar, I should say) two 
people, who, though of tempers extremely unlike, 
think fit to join hands here, and make a little 
party to travel to the Mediterranean in company ; 
the lady comes gliding along through the fruitful 
plains of Burgundy, incredibili lenitate, ita ut 
oculis in utram partem fluit judicari non possit; 
the gentleman runs all rough and roaring down 
from the mountains of Switzerland to meet her; 
and with all her soft airs she likes him never the 
worse ; she goes through the middle of the city in 
state, and he passes incog, without the walls, but 
waits for her a little below. The houses here are 
so high, and the streets so narrow, as would be 
sufficient to render Lyons the dismallest place in 
the world, but the number of people, and the face 
of commerce diffused, about it, are, at least, as 
sufficient to make it the liveliest : between these 
two sufficiencies, you will be in doubt what to 
think of it ; so we shall leave the city, and proceed 
to its environs, which are beautiful beyond ex- 
pression; it is surrounded with mountains, and 
those mountains all bedropped and bespeckled with 
houses, gardens, and plantations of the rich bour- 
geois, who have from thence a prospect of the 
city in the vale below on one hand, on the other 
the rich plains of the Lyonnois, with the rivers 
winding among them, and the Alps, with the 
mountains of Dauphine, to bound the view. All 
yesterday morning we were busied in climbing up 
Mount Fourviere, where the ancient city stood 
perched at such a height, that nothing but the 
hopes of gain could certainly ever persuade their 
neighbours to pay them a visit : here are the ruins 
of the emperors' palaces, that resided here, that is 
to say, Augustus and Severus ; they consist in 
nothing but great masses of old wall, that have 



MR. GRAY. 145 

only their quality to make them respected. In a 
vineyard of the Minims are remains of a theatre ; 
the Fathers, whom they belong to, hold them in 
no esteem at all, and would have showed us their 
sacristy and chapel instead of them : the Ursuline 
Nuns have in their garden some Roman baths, but 
we having the misfortune to be men, and heretics, 
they did not think proper to admit us. Hard by 
are eight arches of a most magnificent aqueduct, 
said to be erected by Antony, when his legions 
were quartered here : there are many other parts 
of it dispersed up and down the country, for it 
brought the water from a river many leagues off in 
La Forez. Here are remains too of Agrippa's seven 
great roads which met at Lyons ; in some places 
they lie twelve feet deep in the ground : in short, 
a thousand matters that you shall not know, till 
you give me a description of the Pais de Tom- 
bridge, and the effect its waters have upon you. 



LETTER VIL 



MR. WEST TO MR. GRAY. 

Temple, Sept. 28, 17 sg. 
IF wishes could turn to realities, I would fling 
down my law books, and sup with you to-night. 
But, alas ! here am I doomed to fix, while you are 
fluttering from city to city, and enjoying all the 
pleasures which a gay climate can afford. It is out 
of the power of my heart to envy your good for- 
tune, yet I cannot help indulging a few natural 
desires ; as for example, to take a walk with you 

H 



146' MEMOIRS OF 

on the banks of the Rhone, and to be climbing up 
mount Fourviere ; 

Jam mens prsetrepidans avet vagari : 
Jam lseti studio pedes vigescunt. 

However, so long as I am not deprived of your 
correspondence, so long shall I always find some 
pleasure in being at home. And, setting all vain 
curiosity aside, when the fit is over, and my reason 
begins to come to herself, I have several other 
powerful motives which might easily cure me of 
my restless inclinations: amongst these, my mo- 
ther's ill state of health is not the least; which 
was the reason of our going to Tunbridge, so that 
you cannot expect much description or amusement 
from thence. Nor indeed is there much room for 
either ; for all diversions there may be reduced to 
two articles, gaming and going to church. They 
were pleased to publish certain Tunbrigiana this 
season ; but such ana ! I believe there were never 
so many vile little verses put together before. So 
much for Tunbridge: London affords me as little 
to say. What ! so huge a town as London ? Yes, 
consider only how I live in that town. I never go 
into the gay world or high world, and consequently 
receive nothing from thence to brighten my ima- 
gination. The busy world I leave to the busy; 
and am resolved never to talk politics till I can 
act at the same time, To tell old stories, or prate 
of old books, seems a little musty ; and toujours 
Chapon bouilli, won't do. However, for want of 
better fare, take another little mouthful of my 
poetry. 

O meae jucunda comes quietis ! 
Quae fere aegrotum solita es levare 
Pectus, et sensim ah ! nimis ingruentes 
Fallere curas : 



MR. GRAY. 147 

Quid canes ? quanto Lyra die furore 
Gesties, quando hac reducem sodalem 
Glauciam * gaudere simul videbis 

Meque sub umbr^i ? 



LETTER VIII. 

MR. GRAY TO HIS MOTHER. 

Lyons, Oct. 13, N. S. 1739. 
IT is now almost five weeks since I left Dijon, one 
of the gayest and most agreeable little cities of 
France, for Lyons, its reverse in all these parti- 
culars. It is the second in the kingdom in bigness 
and rank, the streets excessively narrow and nasty ; 
the houses immensely high and large ; (that, for 
instance, where we are lodged, has twenty-five 
rooms on a floor, and that for five stories) it 
swarms with inhabitants like Paris itself, but 
chiefly a mercantile people, too much given up to 
commerce to think of their own, much less of a 
stranger's diversions. We have no acquaintance 
in the town, but such English as happen to be 
passing through here, in their way to Italy and 
the South, which at present happen to be near 
thirty in number. It is a fortnight since we set 
out from hence upon a little excursion to Geneva. 
We took the longest road, which lies through 
Savoy, on purpose to see a famous monastery, 
called the Grand Chartreuse, and had no reason to 
think our time lost. After having travelled seven 

* He gives Mr. Gray the name of Glaucias fre- 
quently in his Latin verse, as Mr. Gray calls him 
Favonius. 



148 MEMOIRS OF 

days very slow (for we did not change horses, it 
being impossible for a chaise to go post in these 
roads) we arrived at a little village, among the 
mountains of Savoy, called Echelles ; from thence 
we proceeded on horses, who are used to the way, 
/ toTthe mountain of the Chartreuse : it is six miles to 
* the top ; the road runs winding up it, commonly 
not six feet broad \^ on one hand is the rock, 
with woods of pine-trees hanging over head; on 
the other, a monstrous precipice, almost perpen- 
dicular, at the bottom of which rolls a torrent, 
that sometimes tumbling among the fragments of 
stone that have fallen from on high, and sometimes 
precipitating itself down vast descents with a noise 
like thunder, which is still made greater by the 
echo from the mountains on each side, concurs to 
form one of the most solemn., the most romantic, 
and the most astonishing scenes I ever beheld : add 
to this the strange views made by the crags and 
cliffs on the other hand ; the cascades that in many 
places throw themselves from the very summit 
down into the vale, and the river below; and 
many other particulars impossible to describe ; you 
will conclude we had no occasion to repent our 
""""pains. This place St. Bruno chose to retire to, 
and upon its very top founded the aforesaid con- 
vent, which is the superior of the whole order. 
When we came there, the two fathers, who are 
commissioned to entertain strangers, (for the rest 
must neither speak one to another, nor to any one 
else) received us very kindly ; and set before us a 
repast of dried fish, eggs, butter, and fruits, all 
excellent in their kind, and extremely neat. They 
pressed us to spend the night there, and to stay 
some days with them ; but this we could not do, 
so they led us about their house, which is, you 
must think, like a little city ; for there are 100 
fathers, besides .300 servants, that make their 
clothes, grind their corn, press their wine, and do 
every thing among themselves : the whole is quite 



MR. GRAY. 149 

orderly and simple; nothing of finery, but the 
wonderful decency, and the strange situation, more 
than supply the place of it. In the evening we 
descended by the same way, passing through many 
.clouds that were then forming themselves on the 
mountain's side. Next day we continued our jour- 
ney by Chamberry, which, though the chief city 
of the Duchy, and residence of the King of Sar- 

i dinia, when he comes into this part of his domi- 
nions, makes but a very mean and insignificant 
appearance: we lay at Aix, once famous for its 
hot baths, and the next night at Annecy; the day 
after, by noon, we got to Geneva. I have not 

i time to say any thing about it, nor of our solitary 

i journey back again. * * * 



LETTER IX. 

MR. GRAY TO HIS FATHER. 

Lyons, Oct. 25, N. S. 1739- 
IN my last I gave you the particulars of our little 
journey to Geneva: I have only to add, that we 
stayed about a week, in order to see Mr. Conway 
settled there : I do not wonder so many English 
choose it for their residence; the city is very 
small, neat, prettily built, and extremely populous ; 
the Rhone runs through the middle of it, and it is 
surrounded with new fortifications, that give it a 
military compact air ; which, joined to the happy, 
lively countenances of the inhabitants, and an exact 
discipline always as strictly observed as in time 
of war, makes the little republic appear a match 
for a much greater power ; though perhaps Geneva, 
and all that belongs to it, are not of equal extent 



150 MEMOIRS OF 

with Windsor and its two parks. To one that ha~§ 
passed through Savoy, as we did, nothing can he 
more striking than the contrast, as soon as he 
approaches the town. Near the gates of Geneva 
runs the torrent Arve, which separates it from the 
King of Sardinia's dominions ; on the other side of 
it lies a country naturally, indeed, fine and fertile ; 
but you meet with nothing in it but meager, 
ragged, bare-footed peasants, with their children, 
in extreme misery and nastiness ; and even of 
these no great numbers : you no sooner have 
crossed the stream I have mentioned, but poverty 
is no more; not a beggar, hardly a discontented 
face to be seen ; numerous and well-dressed people 
swarming on the ramparts ; drums beating, sol- 
diers, well-clothed and armed, exercising ; and 
folks, with business in their looks, hurrying to 
and fro ; all contribute to make any person, who 
is not blind, sensible what a difference there is 
between the two governments, that are the causes 
of one view and the other. The beautiful lake, at 
one end of which the town is situated; its extent ; 
the several states that border upon it ; and all its 
pleasures, are too well known for me to mention 
them. We sailed upon it as far as the dominions 
of Geneva extend, that is, about two leagues and 
a half on each side; and landed at several of the 
little houses of pleasure, that the inhabitants have 
built all about it, who received us with much 
politeness. The same night we eat part of a trout, 
taken in the lake, that weighed thirty-seven pounds ; 
as great a monster as it appeared to us, it was 
esteemed there nothing extraordinary, and they 
assured us, it was not uncommon to catch them of 
fifty pounds ; they are dressed here, and sent post 
to Paris upon some great occasions ; nay, even to 
Madrid, as we were told. The road we returned 
through was not the same we came by : we crossed 
the Rhone at Seyssel, and passed for three days 
among the mountains of Bugey, without meeting 



MR. GRAY. 151 

with any thing new : at last we came out into the 
plains of La Bresse, and so to Lyons again. Sir 
Robert has written to Mr. Walpole, to desire he 
would go to Italy ; which he has resolved to do ; 
so that all the scheme of spending the winter in 
the south of France is laid aside, and we are to 
pass it in a much finer country. You may imagine 
I am not sorry to have this opportunity of seeing 
the place in the world that best deserves it : besides 
as the Pope (who is eighty-eight, and has been 
lately at the point of death) cannot probably last a 
great while, perhaps we may have the fortune to 
be present at the election of a new one, when 
Rome will be in all its glory. Friday next we 
certainly begin our journey ; in two days we shall 
come to the foot of the Alps, and six more we shall 
be in passing them. Even here the winter is 
begun ; what then must it be among those vast 
snowy mountains where it is hardly ever summer ? 
We are, however, as well armed as possible against 
the cold, with muffs, hoods, and masks of bever, 
fur-boots, and bear skins. When we arrive at 
Turin, we shall rest after the fatigues of the 
journey. * * * 



LETTER X. 



MR. GRAY TO HIS MOTHER. 

Turin, Nov. 7, N. S. 173g. 
I AM this night arrived here, and have just set 
down to rest me after eight days' tiresome journey : 
for the three first we had the same road we before 
passed through to go to Geneva; the fourth we 



152 MEMOIRS OF 

turned out of it, and for that day and the next 
travelled rather among than upon the Alps ; the 
way commonly running through a deep valley by 
the side of the river Arc, which works itself a 
passage, with great difficulty and a mighty noise, 
among vast quantities of rocks, that have rolled 
down from the mountain tops. The winter was so 
far advanced, as in great measure to spoil the 
beauty of the prospect ; however, there was still 
somewhat fine remaining amidst the savageness 
and horror of the place : the sixth we began to go 
up several of these mountains ; and as we were 
passing one, met with an odd accident enough : 
Mr. Walpole had a little fat black spaniel, that he 
was very fond of, which he sometimes used to set 
down, and let it run by the chaise side. We were 
at that time in a very rough road, not two yards 
broad at most; on one side was a great wood of 
pines, and on the other a vast precipice ; it was 
noon-day, and the sun shone bright, when all of a 
sudden from the wood-side, (which was as steep 
upwards, as the other part was downwards) out 
rushed a great wolf, came close to the head of the 
horses, seized the dog by the throat, and rushed 
up the hill again with him in his mouth. This 
was done in less than a quarter of a minute; we 
all saw it, and yet the servants had not time to 
draw their pistols, or do any thing to save the 
dog *. If he had not been there, and the creature 
had thought fit to lay hold of one of the horses, 
chaise, and we, and all must inevitably have 
tumbled above fifty fathoms perpendicular down 
the precipice. The seventh we came to Lanebourg, 
the last town in Savoy ; it lies at the foot of the 



* This odd incident might have afforded Mr. 
Gray a subject for an ode, which would have been 
a good companion to that on the death of a 
favourite cat. 



MR. GRAY. 153 

famous mount Cenis, which is so situated as to 
allow no room for any way but over the very top 
of it. Here the chaise was forced to be pulled to 
pieces, and the, baggage and that to be carried by 
mules : we ourselves were wrapped up in our furs, 
and seated upon a sort of matted chair without 
legs, which is carried upon poles in the manner of 
a bier, and so begun to ascend by the help of eight 
men. It was six miles to the top, where a plain 
opens itself about as many more in breadth, covered 
perpetually with very deep snow, and in the midst 
of that a great lake of unfathomable depth, from 
whence a river takes its rise, and tumbles over 
monstrous rocks quite down the other side of the 
mountain. The descent is six miles more, but 
infinitely more steep than the going up ; and here 
the men perfectly fly down with you, stepping from 
stone to stone with incredible swiftness in places 
where none but they could go three paces without 
falling. s The immensity of the precipices, the 
roaring of the river and torrents that run into it, 
the huge crags covered with ice and snow, and the 
elouds below you and about you, are objects it is 
impossible to conceive without seeing them ; and 
though we had heard many strange descriptions of 
the scene, none of them at all came up to it. We 
were but five hours in performing the whole, from 
which you may judge of the rapidity of the men's 
motion. We are now got into Piedmont, and 
stopped a little while at La Ferriere, a small 
village about three quarters of the way down, but 
still among the clouds, where we begun to hear a 
new language spoken round about us ; at last we 
got quite down ; went through the Pas de Suse, a 
narrow road among the Alps, defended by two 
fortresses, and lay at Bossolens : next evening 
through a fine avenue of nine miles in length, as 
straight as a line, we arrived at this city, which, 
as you know, is the capital of the Principality, 

H 2 



154 MEMOIRS OF 

and the residence of the King of Sardinia. * * * 
We shall stay here, I believe, a fortnight, and 
proceed for Genoa, which is three or four days* 
journey to go post. 

I am, &c. 



LETTER XL 



MR. GRAY TO MR. WEST. 

Turin, Nov. 16, N. S. 1739- 
AFTER eight days' journey through Greenland, 
we arrived at Turin — you approach it by a hand- 
some avenue of nine miles long, and quite straight. 
— The entrance is guarded by certain vigilant dra- 
gons, called Douaniers, who mumbled us for some 
time. The city is not large, as being a place of 
strength, and consequently confined within it's 
fortifications ; it has many beauties and some 
faults ; among the first are streets all laid out by 
the line, regular uniform buildings, fine walks 
that surround the whole, and in general a good, 
lively, clean appearance : but the houses are of 
brick, plastered, which is apt to want repairing ; 
the windows of oiled paper, which is apt to be 
torn ; and every thing very slight, which is apt to 

*** That part of the letter here omitted con- 
tained only a description Of the city; which, as 
Mr. Gray has given it to Mr. West in the following 
letter, and that in a more lively manner, I thought 
it unnecessary to insert ; a liberty I have taken in 
other parts of this correspondence, in order to 
avoid repetitions. 



MR. GRAY. 155 

tumble down. There is an excellent opera, but 
it is only in the Carnival : balls every night, but 
only in the Carnival : masquerades too, but only 
in the Carnival. This Carnival lasts only from 
Christmas to Lent; one half of the remaining 
part of the year is passed in remembering the 
last, the other in expecting the future Carnival. 
We cannot well subsist upon such slender diet, no 
more than upon an execrable Italian comedy, and 
a puppet-show, called Rappresentazione d'un' anima 
dannata, which, I think, are all the present diver- 
sions of the place ; except the Marquise de Ca- 
vaillac's Conversazione, where one goes to see 
people play at Ombre and Taroc, a game with 72 
cards all painted with suns, and moons, and devils, 
and monks. Mr. "Walpole has been at court ; the 
family are at present at a country palace, called 
La Venerie. The palace here in town is the very 
quintessence of gilding and looking-glass ; inlaid 
floors, carved pannels, and painting, wherever they 
could stick a brush, I own I have not, as yet, 
any where met with those grand and simple works 
of Art, that are to amaze one, and whose sight 
one is to be the better for : but those of Nature 
have astonished me beyond expression. In our 
little journey up to the Grande Chartreuse, I do 
not remember to have gone ten paces without an 
exclamation, that there was no restraining : not a 
precipice, not a torrent, not a cliff, but is pregnant 
with religion and poetry. There are certain scenes 
that would awe an atheist into belief, without the 
help of other argument. One need not have a very 
fantastic imagination to see spirits there at noon- 
day : ycu have death perpetually before your eyes, 
only so far removed, as to compose the mind with- 
out frighting it. I am well persuaded St. Bruno 
was a man of no common genius, to choose such a 
situation for his retirement; and perhaps should 
have been a disciple of his, had I been born in his 
time. You may believe Abelard and Heloise were 



J56 MEMOIRS OP 

not forgot upon this occasion ; if I do not mistake, 
I saw you too every now and then at a distance 
among the trees ; il me semble, que j'ai vu ce 
chien de visage la quelque part. You seemed to call 
to me from the other side of the precipice, hut the 
noise of the river below was so great, that I really 
could not distinguish what you said ; it seemed to 
have a cadence like verse. In your next you will 
be so good to let me know what it was. The 
week we have since passed among the Alps has 
not equalled the single day upon that mountain, 
because the winter was rather too far advanced, and 
the weather a little foggy. However, it did not 
want its beauties ; the savage rudeness of the view 
is inconceivable without seeing it : I reckoned, in 
one day, thirteen cascades, the least of which was, 
I dare say, one hundred feet in height. I had 
Livy in the chaise with me, and beheld his ' Nives 
ccelo prope immistse, tecta informia imposita ru- 
pibus, pecora jumentaque torrida frigore, homines 
intonsi et inculti, animalia inanimaque omnia ri- 
gentia gelu ; omnia confragosa, prseruptaque.' The 
creatures that inhabit them are, in all respects, 
below humanity ; and most of them, especially 
women, have the tumidum guttur, which they 
call goscia. Mont Cenis, I confess, carries the 
permission * mountains have of being frightful 
rather too far; and its horrors were accompanied 
with too much danger to give one time to reflect 
upon their beauties. There is a family of the 
Alpine monsters I have mentioned, upon its very 
top, that in the middle of winter calmly lay in 
their stock of provisions and firing, and so are 
buried in their hut for a month or two under the 
snow. When we were down it, and got a little way 
into Piedmont, we began to find * Apricos quosdam 

* A phrase borrowed from Madame de Sevigne, 
who quotes a bon mot on Pelisson, qu'il abusoit de 
la permission qu'ont les hommes d'etre laids. 



MR. GRAY. 157 

colles, rivosque prope sylvas, et jam humano cultu 
digniora loca.' I read Silius Italicus too, for the 
first time; and wished for you, according to cus- 
tom. We set out for Genoa in two days' time. 



LETTER XII. 



MR. GRAY TO MR. WEST. 

Genoa, Nov. 21, 17 3Q, 

HORRIDOS tractus, Boreaeq; linquens 
Regna Taurini fera, molliorem 
Advehor brumam, Genuseq; amantes 

Litora soles. 

At least if they do not, they have a very ill taste ; 
for I never beheld any thing more amiable : only 
figure to yourself a vast semicircular basin, full of 
fine blue sea, and vessels of all sorts and sizes, 
some sailing out, some coming in, and others at 
anchor; and all round it palaces and churches 
peeping over one another's heads, gardens, and 
marble terraces full of orange and cypress trees, 
fountains, and trellis-works covered with vines, 
which altogether compose the grandest of theatres. 
This is the first coup d'ceil, and is almost all I am 
yet able to give you an account of, for we arrived 
late last night. To-day was, luckily, a great fes- 
tival, and in the morning we resorted to the church 
of the Madonna delle Vigne, to put up our little 
orisons; (I believe I forgot to tell you, that we 
have been sometime converts to the holy Catholic 
church) we found our Lady richly dressed out, 
with a crown of diamonds on her own head, an- 



153 MEMOIRS OF 

other upon the child's, and a constellation of wax 
lights burning before them: shortly after came 
the Doge, in his robes of crimson damask, and a 
cap of the same, followed by the Senate in black. 
Upon his approach began a fine concert of music, 
and among the rest two eunuchs' voices, that were 
a perfect feast to ears that had heard nothing but 
French operas for a year. We listened to this, 
and breathed nothing but incense for two hours. 
The Doge is a very tall, lean, stately, old figure, 
called Costantino Balbi ; and the Senate seem to 
have been made upon the same model. They 
said their prayers, and heard an absurd white friar 
preach, with equal devotion. After this we went 
to the Annonciata, a church built by the family 
Lomellini, and belonging to it ; which is, indeed, 
a most stately structure, the inside wholly marble 
of various kinds, except where gold and painting 
take its place. From hence to the Palazzo Doria. 
I should make you sick of marble, if I told you 
how it was lavished here upon the porticoes, the 
balustrades, and terraces, the lowest of which ex- 
tends quite to the sea. The inside is by no means 
answerable to the outward magnificence; the fur- 
niture seems to be as old as the founder of the 
family *. Their great imbossed silver tables tell 
you. in bas-relief, his victories at sea; how he 
entertained the Emperor Charles, and how he 
refused the sovereignty of the Commonwealth 
when it was offered him ; the rest is old-fashioned 
velvet chairs, and gothic tapestry. The rest of 
the day has been spent, much to our hearts' con- 
tent, in cursing French music and architecture, 
and in singing the praises of Italy. We find this 
place so very fine, that we are in fear of finding 
nothing finer. We are fallen in love with the 
Mediterranean sea, and hold your lakes and your 
rivers in vast contempt. This is 

* The famous Andrea Doria. 



MR. GRAY, 159 

' The happy country where huge lemons grow,' 

as Waller says ; and I am sorry to think of leaving 
it in a week for Parma, although it be 

The happy country where huge cheeses grow. 



LETTER XIII. 

MR. GRAY TO HIS MOTHER. 

Bologna, Dec. 9, N. S. 1739. 
OUR journey hither has taken up much less time 
than I expected. We left Genoa (a charming 
place, and one that deserved a longer stay) the 
week before last; crossed the mountains, and lay 
that night at Tortona, the next at St. Giovanni, 
and the morning after came to Piacenza. That 
city (though the capital of a Duchy) made so 
frippery an appearance, that instead of spending 
some days there, as had been intended, we only 
dined, and went on to Parma ; stayed there all 
the following day, which was passed in visiting 
the famous works of Corregio in the Dome, and 
other churches. The fine gallery of pictures, that 
once belonged to the Dukes of Parma, is no more 
here ; the King of Naples has carried it all thither, 
and the city had not merit enough to detain us 
any longer, so we proceeded through Reggio to 
Modena; this, though the residence of its Duke, 
is an ill-built melancholy place, all of brick, as are 
most of the towns in this part of Lombardy : he 
himself lives in a private manner, with very little 
appearance of a court about him ; he has one of 
the noblest collections of paintings in the world, 
which entertained us extremely well the rest of 



160 MEMOIRS OF 

that day and a part of the next ; and in the after- 
noon we came to Bologna : so now you may wish 
us joy of being in the dominions of his Holiness. 
This is a populous city, and of great extent: all 
the streets have porticoes on both sides, such as 
surround a part of Covent-Garden, a great relief 
in summer-time in such a climate ; and from one 
of the principal gates to a church of the Virgin 
[where is a wonder-working picture, at three miles 
distance] runs a corridore of the same sort, lately 
finished, and, indeed, a most extraordinary per- 
formance. The churches here are more remark- 
able for their paintings than architecture, being 
mostly old structures of brick ; but the palaces arc 
numerous, and fine enough to supply us with 
somewhat worth seeing from morning till night. 
The country of Lombardy, hitherto, is one of the 
most beautiful imaginable ; the roads broad, and 
exactly straight, and on either hand vast plantations 
of trees, chiefly mulberries and olives, and not a 
tree without a vine twining about it and spreading 
among its branches. This scene, indeed, which 
must be the most lovely in the world during the 
proper season, is at present all deformed by the 
winter, which here is rigorous enough for the time 
it lasts ; but one still sees the skeleton of a charm- 
ing place, and reaps the benefit of its product, for 
the fruits and provisions are admirable; in short, 
you find every thing, that luxury can desire, in ' 
perfection. We have now been here a week, and 
shall stay some little time longer. We are at the 
foot of the Apennine mountains ; it will take up 
three days to cross them, and then we shall come 
to Florence, where we shall pass the Christmas. 
Till then we must remain in a state of ignorance 
as to what is doing in England, for our letters are 
to meet us there : if I do not find four or five from 
you alone, I shall wonder. 



MR. GRAY. 161 



LETTER XIV. 



MR. GRAY TO HIS MOTHER. 

Florence, Dec. 10, N. S. 1739. 
WE spent twelve days at Bologna, chiefly (as most 
travellers do) in seeing sights ; for as we knew no 
mortal there, and as it is no easy matter to get 
admission into any Italian house, without very 
particular recommendations, we could see no com- 
pany but in public places ; and there are none in 
that city but the churches. We saw, therefore, 
churches, palaces, and pictures from morning to 
night ; and the loth of this month set out for 
Florence, and began to cross the Apennine moun- 
tains ; we travelled among and upon them all that 
day, and, as it was but indifferent weather, were 
commonly in the middle of thick clouds, that 
utterly deprived us of a sight of their beauties : 
for this vast chain of hills has its beauties, and all 
the valleys are cultivated; even the mountains 
themselves are many of them so within a little of 
their very tops, They are not so horrid as the 
Alps, though pretty near as high ; and the whole 
road is admirably well kept, and paved through- 
out, which is a length of fourscore miles, and 
more. We left the Pope's dominions, and lay that 
night in those of the Grand Duke of Fiorenzuola, 
a paltry little town, at the foot of Mount Giogo, 
which is the highest of them all. Next morning 
we went up it ; the post-house is upon its very 
top, and usually involved in clouds, or half-buried 
in the snow. Indeed there was none of the last at 
the time we were there, but it was still a dismal 



162 MEMOIRS OF 

habitation. The descent is most excessively steep, 
and the turnings very short and frequent ; how- 
ever, we performed it without any danger, and in 
coming down could dimly discover Florence, and 
the beautiful plain about it, through the mists ; 
but enough to convince us, it must be one of the 
noblest prospects upon earth in summer. That 
afternoon we got thither; and Mr. Mann*, the 
resident, had sent his servant to meet us at the 
gates, and conduct us to his house. He is the 
best and most obliging person in the world. The 
next night we were introduced at the Prince of 
Craon's assembly (he has the chief power here in 
the Grand Duke's absence). The Princess, and 
he, were extremely civil to the name of Walpole, 
so we were asked to stay supper, which is as much 
as to say, you may come and sup here whenever 
you please ; for after the first invitation this is 
always understood. We have also been at the 
Countess Suarez's, a favourite of the late Duke, 
and one that gives the first movement to every 
thing gay that is going forward here. The news 
is every day expected from Vienna of the Great 
Duchess's delivery ; if it be a boy, here will be 
all sorts of balls, masquerades, operas, and il- 
luminations ; if not, we must wait for the Carni- 
val, when all those things come of course. In 
the mean time it is impossible to want entertain- 
ment ; the famous gallery, alone, is an amusement 
for months ; we commonly pass two or three hours 
every morning in it, and one has perfect leisure to 
consider all its beauties. You know it contains 
many hundred antique statues, such as the whole 
world cannot match, besides the vast collection of 
paintings, medals, and precious stones, such as no 
other prince was ever master of; in short, all that 

* Now Sir Horace Mann, and Envoy Extra- 
ordinary at the same court. 



MR. GRAY. 165 

the rich and powerful house of Medicis has in so 
many years got together*. And besides this city 
abounds with so many palaces and churches, that 
you can hardly place yourself any where without 
having some fine one in view, or at least some 
statue or fountain, magnificently adorned; these 
undoubtedly are far more numerous than Genoa 
can pretend to ; yet, in its general appearance, I 
cannot think that Florence equals it in beauty. 
Mr. Walpole is just come from being presented to 
the Electress Palatine Dowager ; she is a sister of 
the late Great Duke's ; a stately old lady, that 
never goes out but to church, and then she has 
guards, and eight horses to her coach. She re- 
ceived him with much ceremony, standing under 
a huge black canopy, and, after a few minutes 
talking, she assured him of her good will, and 
dismissed him : she never sees any body but thus 
in form; and so she passes her life, fpoor wo- 
man ! * * * 

* He catalogued and made occasional short re- 
marks on the pictures, &c. which he saw here, as 
well as at other places, many of which are in my 
possession, but it would have swelled this work too 
much if I had inserted them. 

f Persons of very high rank, and withal very 
good sense, will only feel the pathos of this ex- 
clamation. 



164 MEMOIRS OF 



LETTER XV. 

MR. GRAY TO MR. WEST. 

Florence, Jan. 15, 1740. 
I THINK I have not yet told you how we left 
that charming place Genoa : how we crossed a 
mountain all of green marble, called Buchetto : 
how we came to Tortona, and waded through the 
mud to come to Castel St. Giovanni, and there eat 
mustard and sugar with a dish of crows' gizzards : 
secondly, how we passed the famous plains 

Qua Trebie glaucas salices interseeat unda, 
Arvaque Romanis nobilitata malis. . 

Visus adhuc amnis veteri de clade rubere, 
Et suspirantes ducere mcestus aquas; 

Maurorumque ala, et nigrse increbrescere turmse, 
Et pulsa Ausonidum ripa sonare fuga. 

Nor, thirdly, how we passed through Piacenza, 
Parma, Modena, entered the territories of the 
Pope ; stayed twelve days at Bologna ; crossed the 
Apennines, and afterwards arrived at Florence. 
None of these things have I told you, nor do I 
intend to tell you, till you ask me some questions 
concerning them. No not even of Florence itself, 
except that it is as fine as possible, and has every 
thing in it that can bless the eyes. But, before I 
enter into particulars, you must make your peace 
both with me and the Venus de Medicis, who, let 
me tell you, is highly and justly offended at you 
for not inquiring, long before this, concerning her 
symmetry and proportions. * * * 



MR. GRAY. 165 

LETTER XVI. 

MR. WEST TO MR. GRAY. 

ELEGIA.* 

ERGO desidiae videor tibi crimine dignus ; 

Et merito : victas do tibi sponte manus. 
Arguor et veteres nimium contemnere Musas, 

Irata et nobis est Medicsea Venus. 
Mene igitur statuas et inania saxa vereri ! 

Stultule ! marmorea quid mihi cum Venere ? 
Hie verse, hie vivae Veneres, et mille per urbem, 

Quarum nulla queat non plaeuisse Jovi. 
Cedite Romanse formosae et eedite Graiae, 

Sintque oblita Helenas nomen et Hermionas ! 
Et, quascunque refert astas vetus, Heroinae : 

Unus honor nostris jam venit Angliasin. 
Oh quales vultus, Oh quantum numen ocellis ! 

I nunc et Tuseas improbe confer opes. 
Ne tamen haec obtusa nimis praecordia credas, 

Neu me adeo nulla Faliade progenitum : 
Testor Pieridumque umbras et flumina Pindi 

Me quoque Calliopes semper amasse choros ; 
Et dudum Ausonias urbes, et visere Graias 

Cura est, ingenio si licet ire meo : 
Sive est Phidiacum marmor, seu, Mentoris sera, 

Seu paries Coo nobilis e calamo ; 
Nee minus artificum magna argumenta recentum 

Romanique decus nominis et Veneti : 
Qua Furor et Mavors et ssevo in Maimore vultus, 

Quaque et formoso mollior aere Venus. 

* The letter which accompanied this little elegy 
is not extant. Probably it was only inclosed in 
one to Mr. Walpole. 



166 MEMOIRS OF 

Quaque loquax spirat fucus, vivique labores, 

Et quicquid calamo dulcihs ausa maims : 
Hie nemora, et sola moerens Meliboeus in umbra, 

Lymphaque muscoso prosiliens lapide; 
Illic majus opus, faciesque in pariete major 

Exurgens, Divum et numina Coelicolum ; 
O vos faelices, quibus haec cognoscere fas est, 

Et tota Italia, qua patet usque, frui ! 
Nulla dies vobis eat injucunda, nee usquam 

Noritis quid sit tempora amara pati. 



LETTER XVII. 

MR. GRAY TO HIS MOTHER. 

Florence, March 19, 1740. 
THE Pope* is at last dead, and we are to set out 
for Rome on Monday next. The Conclave is still 
sitting there, and likely to continue so some time 
longer, as the two French Cardinals are but just 
arrived, and the German ones are still expected. 
It agrees mighty ill with those that remain in- 
closed : Ottoboni is already dead of an apoplexy ; 
Altieri and several others are said to be dying, or 
very bad: yet it is not expected to break up till 
after Easter. We shall lie at Sienna the first night, 
spend a day there, and in two more get to Rome. 
One begins to see in this country the first promises 
of an Italian spring, clear unclouded skies, and 
warm suns, such as are not often felt in England ; 
yet, for your sake, I hope at present you have 
your proportion of them, and that all your frosts, 
and snows, and short-breaths are, by this time, 

* Clement the Twelfth. 



MR. GRAY. 167 

utterly vanished. I have nothing new or particular 
to inform you of ; and, if you see things at home 
go on much in their old course, you must not 
imagine them more various abroad. The diver- 
sions of a Florentine Lent are composed of a 
sermon in the morning, full of hell and the devil ; 
a dinner at noon, full of fish and meager diet ; 
and, in the evening, what is called a Conversa- 
zione, a sort of assembly at the principal people's 
houses, full of I cannot tell what : besides this, 
there is twice a week a very grand concert. * * * 



LETTER XVIII. 

MR. GRAY TO HIS MOTHER. 

Rome, April 2, N. S. 1740. 
THIS is the third day since we came to Rome, 
but the first hour I have had to write to you in. 
The journey from Florence cost us four days, one 
of which was spent at Sienna, an agreeable, clean, 
old city, of no great magnificence or extent ; but 
in a fine situation, and good air. What it has 
most considerable is its cathedral, a huge pile of 
marble, black and white laid alternately, and la- 
boured with a gothic niceness and delicacy in the 
old-fashioned way. Within too are some paintings 
and sculpture of considerable hands. The sight of 
this, and some collections that were showed us in 
private houses, were a sufficient employment for 
the little time we were to pass there ; and the next 
morning we set forward on our journey through a 
country very oddly composed ; for some miles you 
have a continual scene of little mountains culti- 
vated from top to bottom with rows of olive-trees, 



168 MEMOIRS OF 

or else elms, each of which has its vine *twining 
about it, and mixing with the branches ; and corn 
sown between all the ranks. This, diversified with 
numerous small houses and convents, makes the 
most agreeable prospect in the world : but, all of 
a sudden, it alters to black barren hills, as far as 
the eye can reach, that seem never to have been 
capable of culture, and are as ugly as useless. 
Such is the country for some time before one 
comes to Mount Radicofani, a terrible black hill, 
on the top of which we were to lodge that night. 
It is very high, and difficult of ascent ; and at the 
foot of it we were much embarrassed by the fall of 
one of the poor horses that drew us. This accident 
obliged another chaise, which was coming down, 
to stop also ; and out of it peeped a figure in a red 
cloak, with a handkerchief tied round its head, 
which, by its voice and mien, seemed a fat old 
woman ; but, upon its getting out, appeared to 
be Senesino, who was returning from Naples to 
Sienna, the place of his birth and residence. On 
the highest part of the mountain is an old fortress, 
and near it a house built by one of the Grand 
Dukes for a hunting-seat, but now converted into 
an inn : it is the shell of a large fabric, but such 
an inside, such chambers, and accommodations, 
that your cellar is a palace in comparison ; and 
your cat sups and lies much better than we did ; 
for, it being a saint's eve, there was nothing but 
eggs. We devoured our meager fare; and, after 
stopping up the windows with the quilts, were 
obliged to lie upon the straw beds in our clothes. 
Such are the conveniences in a road, that is, as it 
were, the great thoroughfare of all the world. 
Just on the other side of this mountain, at Ponte- 
Centino, one enters the patrimony of the church ; 
a most delicious country, but thinly inhabited. 
That night brought us to Viterbo, a city of a more 
lively appearance than any we had lately met with ; 
the houses have glass windows, which is not very 



MR. GRAY. 169 

usual here ; and most of the streets are terminated 
by a handsome fountain. Here we had the pleasure 
of breaking our fast on the leg of an old hare and 
some broiled crows. Next morning, in descending 
Mount Viterbo, we first discovered (though at near 
thirty miles distance) the cupola of St. Peter's, 
and a little after began to enter on an old Roman 
pavement, with now and then a ruined tower, or a 
sepulchre on each hand. We now had a clear view 
of the city, though not to the best advantage, as 
coming along a plain quite upon a level with it ; 
however, it appeared very vast, and surrounded 
with magnificent villas and gardens. We soon 
after crossed the Tiber, a river that ancient Rome 
made more considerable than any merit of its own 
could have done : however, it is not contemptibly 
small, but a good handsome stream ; very deep, 
yet somewhat of a muddy complexion. The first 
entrance of Rome is prodigiously striking. It is 
by a noble gate, designed by Michel Angelo, and 
adorned with statues ; this brings you into a large 
square, in the midst of which is a vast obelisk of 
granite, and in front you have at one view two 
churches of a handsome architecture, and so much 
alike that they are called the twins; with three 
streets, the middlemost of which is one of the 
longest in Rome. As high as my expectation was 
raised, I confess, the magnificence of this city in- 
, finitely surpasses it. You cannot pass along a 
j street but you have views of some palace, or 
church, or square, or fountain, the most pictu- 
resque and noble one can imagine. We have not 
yet set about considering its beauties, ancient and 
modern, with attention ; but have already taken a 
slight transient view of some of the most remark- 
,\ able. St. Peter's I saw the day after we arrived, 
j and was struck dumb with wonder. I there saw 
the Cardinal d'Auvergne, one of the French ones, 
who, upon coming off his journey, immediately 
repaired hither to offer up his vows at the high 

I 



170 MEMOIRS OF 

altar, and went directly into the Conclave; the 
doors of which we saw opened to him, and all the 
other immured cardinals came thither to receive 
him. Upon his entrance they were closed again 
directly. It is supposed they will not come to an 
agreement about a pope till after Easter, though 
the confinement is very disagreeable. I have hardly 
philosophy enough to see the infinity of fine things, 
that are here daily in the power of any body that 
has money, without regretting the want of it ; but 
custom has the power of making things easy to 
one. I have not yet seen his majesty of Great- 
Britain, &c. though I have the two boys in the 
gardens of the Villa Borgese, where they go a- 
shooting almost every day ; it was at a distance, 
indeed, for we did not choose to meet them, as 
you may imagine. This letter (like all those the 
English send, or receive) will pass through the 
hands of that family, before it comes to those it 
was intended for. They do it more honour than it 
deserves ; and all they will learn from thence will 
be, that I desire you to give my duty to my father, 
and wherever else it is due, and that I am, &c 



LETTER XIX. 

MR. GRAY TO HIS MOTHER. 

Rome, April 15, 1740. Good-Friday. 
TO-DAY I am just come from paying my adoration 
at St. Peter's to three extraordinary relics, which 
are exposed to public view only on these two days 
in the whole year, at which time all the confra- 
ternities in the city come in procession to see them. 
It was something extremely novel to see that vast 



MR. GRAY. 171 

church, and the most magnificent in the world, 
undoubtedly, illuminated (for it was night) by 
thousands of little crystal lamps, disposed in the 
figure of a huge cross at the high altar, and seem- 
ing to hang alone in the air. All the light pro- 
ceeded from this, and had the most singular effect 
imaginable as one entered the great door. Soon 
after came one after another, I believe, thirty pro- 
cessions, all dressed in linen frocks, and girt with 
a cord, their heads covered with a cowl all over, 
only two holes to see through left. Some of them 
were all black, others red, others white, others 
party-coloured ; these were continually coming and 
going with their tapers and crucifixes before them ; 
and to each company, as they arrived and knelt 
before the great altar, were shown from a balcony, 
at a great height, the three wonders, which are, 
you must know, the head of the spear that wounded 
Christ ; St. Veronica's handkerchief, with the mi- 
raculous impression of his face upon it ; and a 
piece of the true cross, on the sight of which the 
people thump their breasts, and kiss the pavement 
with vast devotion. The tragical part of the 
ceremony is half a dozen wretched creatures, who, 
with their faces covered, but naked to the waist, 
are in a side-chapel disciplining themselves with 
scourges full of iron prickles ; but really in earnest, 
as our eyes can testify, which saw their backs and 
arms so raw, we should have taken it for a red 
satin doublet torn, and showing the skin through, 
had we not been convinced of the contrary by the 
blood which was plentifully sprinkled about them. 
It is late ; I give you joy of Porto-Bello, and many 
other things, which I hope are all true. * * * 



172 MEMOIRS OF 



LETTER XX. 



MR. GRAY TO MR. WEST. 

Tivoli, May CO, 1740. 
THIS day being in the palace of his Highness the 
Duke of Modena, he laid his most serene com- 
mands upon me to write to Mr. West, and said he 
thought it for his glory, that I should draw up an 
inventory of all his most serene possessions for the 

said West's perusal Imprimis, a house, being 

in circumference a quarter of a mile, two feet and 
an inch ; the said house containing the following 
particulars, to wit, a great room ; item, another 
great room ; item, a bigger room ; item, another 
room ; item, a vast room ; item, a sixth of the 
same ; a seventh ditto ; an eighth as before ; a 
ninth as abovesaid; a tenth (see No. 1.) ; item, 
ten more such, besides twenty besides, which, not 
to be too particular, we shall pass over. The said 
rooms contain nine chairs, two tables, five stools, 
and a cricket. From whence we shall proceed to 
the garden, containing two millions of superfine 
laurel hedges, a clump of cypress trees, and half 
the river Teverone, that pisses into two thousand 
several chamberpots. Finis. — Dame Nature desired 
me to put in a list of her little goods and chattels, 
and, as they were small, to be very minute about 
them. She has built here three or four little 
mountains, and laid them out in an irregular semi- 
circle ; from certain others behind, at a greater 
distance, she has drawn a canal, into which she 
has put a little river of hers, called Anio ; she has 
cut a huge clift between the two innermost of her 
four hills, and there she has left it to its own 



MR. GRAY, 173 

disposal ; which she has no sooner done, but, like 
a heedless chit, it tumbles headlong down a declivity 
fifty feet perpendicular, breaks itself all to shatters, 
and is converted into a shower of rain, where the 
sun forms many a bow, red, green, blue, and 
yellow. To get out of our metaphors without any 
further trouble, it is the most noble sight in the 
world. The weight of that quantity of waters, 
and the force they fall with, have worn the rocks 
they throw themselves among into a thousand ir- 
regular crags, and to a vast depth. In this channel 
it goes boiling along with a mighty noise till it 
comes to another steep, where you see it a second 
time come roaring down (but first you must waik 
two miles farther) a greater height than before, 
but not with that quantity of waters ; for by this 
time it has divided itself, being crossed and op- 
posed by the rocks, into four several streams, each 
of which, in emulation of the great one, will 
tumble down too ; and it does tumble down, but 
not from an equally elevated place ; so that you 
have at one view all these cascades intermixed 
with groves of olive and little woods, the moun- 
tains rising behind them, and on the top of one 
(that which forms the extremity of one of the half- 
circle's horns) is seated the town itself. At the 
very extremity of that extremity, on the brink of 
the precipice, stands the Sibyls' temple, the re- 
mains of a little rotunda, surrounded with its 
portico, above half of whose beautiful Corinthian 
pillars are still standing and entire ; all this on one 
hand. On the other, the open Campagna of Rome, 
here and there a little castle on a hillock, and the 
city itself on the very brink of the horizon, in- 
distinctly seen (being 18 miles off) except the dome 
of St. Peter's; which, if you look out of your 
window, wherever you are, I suppose, you can 
see. I did not tell you that a little below the first 
fall, on the side of the rock, and hanging over 
that torrent, are little ruins which they show you 



174 MEMOIRS OF 

for Horace's house, a curious situation to observe 
the 

( Praeceps Anio, et Tiburni lucus, et uda 
Mobilibus pomaria rivis.' 

Maecenas did not care for such a noise, it seems, 
and built him a house (which they also carry one 
to see) so situated that it sees nothing at all of the 
matter, and for any thing he knew there might be 
no such river in the world. Horace had another 
house on the other side of the Teverone, opposite 
to Maecenas's ; and they told us there was a bridge 
of communication, by which * andava il detto 
Signor per trastullarsi coll istesso Orazio.' In 
coming hither we crossed the Aquae Albulae, a vile 
little brook that stinks like a fury, and they say it 
has stunk so these thousand years. I forgot the 
Piscina of Quintilius Varus, where he used to keep 
certain little fishes. This is very entire, and there 
is a piece of the aqueduct that supplied it too ; in 
the garden below is old Rome, built in little, just 
as it was, they say. There are seven temples in 
it, and no houses at all : they say there were 
none. 

May 21. 
We have had the pleasure of going twelve miles 
out of our way to Palestrina. It has rained all 
day as if heaven and us were coming together. 
See my honesty, I do not mention a syllable of the 
temple of Fortune, because I really did not see it ; 
which, I think, is pretty well for an old traveller. 
So we returned along the Via Praenestina, saw the 
Lacus Gabinus and Regillus, where, you know, 
Castor and Pollux appeared upon a certain occa- 
sion : and many a good old tomb we left on each 
hand, and many an aqueduct, 

Dumb are whose fountains, and their channels dry. 

There are, indeed, two whole modern ones, works 



MR. GRAY. 175 

of popes, that run about thirty miles a-piece in 
length ; one of them conveys still the famous Aqua 
Virgo to Rome, and adds vast beauty to the 
prospect. So we came to Rome again, where 
waited for us a splendidissimo regalo of letters ; 
in one of which came You, with your huge cha- 
racters and wide intervals, staring. I wOuld have 
you to know, 'I expect you should take a handsome 
crow-quill when you write to me, and not leave 
room for a pin's point in four sides of a sheet 
royal. Do you but find matter, I will rind spec- 
tacles. 

I have more time than I thought, and I will 
employ it in telling you about a ball that we were 
at the other evening. Figure to yourself a Roman 
villa ; all its little apartments thrown open, and 
lighted up to the best advantage. At the upper 
end of the gallery, a fine concert, in which La 
Diamantina, a famous virtuosa, played on the 
violin divinely, and sung angelically ; Giovannino 
and Pasqualini (great names in musical story) 
also performed miraculously. On each side were 
ranged all the secular grand monde of Rome, the 
ambassadors, princesses, and all that. Among 
the rest, II Serenissimo Pretendente (as the Man- 
tova gazette calls him) displayed his rueful length 
of person, with his two young ones, and all his 
ministry around him. < Poi nacque un grazioso 
ballo,' where the world danced, and I sat in a 
corner regaling myself with iced fruits, and other 
pleasant rinfrescatives. 



176 MEMOIRS OF 

LETTER XXI. 

MR. GRAY TO MR. WEST. 

Rome, May, 1740. 
Mater rosarum, cui tenerse vigent 
Aurae Favoni, cui Venus it comes 
Lasciva, Nympharum choreis 
Et volucrum celebrata cantu ! 
Die, non inertem fallere qua diem 
Amat sub umbra, seu sinit aureum 
Dormire plectrum, seu retentat 
Pierio * Zephyrinus antro 
Furore dulci plenus, et immemor 
Reptantis inter frigora Tusculi 
Umbrosa, vel colles Amici 
Palladia; superantis Albas. 
Dilecta Fauno, et capripedum choris, 
Pineta, testor vos, Anio minax 
Qusecunque per clivos volutus 
Prascipiti tremefecit amne, 
Illius altum Tibur, et iEsulae 
Audisse sylvas nomen amabiles, 
Illius et gratas Latinis 

Naiasin ingeminasse rupes : 
Nam me Latinae Naiades uvida 
Videire ripa, qua niveas levi 
Tarn saepe lavit rore plumas 
Dulce canens Venusinus ales ; 



* He entitled this charming ode, ' Ad C. Favo- 
nium Zephyrinum,' and writ it immediately after 
his journey to Frescati and the cascades of Tivoli, 
which he describes in the preceding letter. 



MR, GRAY. 177 

Mirum ! canenti conticuit nemus, 
Sacrique fontes, et retinent adhuc 
(Sic Musa jussit) saxa molles 
Docta modos, veteresque lauri. 
Mirare nee tu me citharae rudem 
Claudis laborantem numeris : loca 
Amcena, jucundumque ver in- 
compositum docuere carmen ; 
Hssrent sub omni nam folio nigri 
Fhoebea luci (eredite) somnia, 
Argutiusque et lympha et aUrae 
Nescio quid solito loquuntur. 

I am to-day just returned from Alba, a good deal 
fatigued ; for you fciow the Appian is somewhat 
tiresome*. We dined at Pompey's; he indeed was 
gone for a few days to his Tusculan, but, by the 
care of his Villicus, we made an admirable meal. 
We had the dugs of a pregnant sow, a peacock, a 
dish of thrushes, a noble scarus, just fresh from 
the Tyrrhene, and some conchylia of the lake with 
garum sauce: for my part I never eat better at 
Lucullus's table. We drank half a dozen cyathi 
a- piece of ancient Alban to Pholoe's health ; and, 
after bathing, and playing an hour at ball, we 
mounted our essedum again, and proceeded up the 
mount to the temple. The priests there entertained 
us with an account of a wonderful shower of birds' 
eggs, that had fallen two days before, which had no 
sooner touched the ground, but they were con- 

* However whimsical this humour may appear 
to some readers, I chose to insert it, as it gives me 
an opportunity of remarking that Mr. Gray was 
extremely skilled in the customs of the ancient 
Romans ; and has catalogued, in his common-place 
book, their various eatables, wines, perfumes, 
clothes, medicines, &c. with great precision, re- 
ferring under every article to passages in the poets 
and historians where their names are mentioned. 

12 



178 MEMOIRS OF 

verted into gudgeons ; as also that the night past a 
dreadful voice had been heard out of the Adytum, 
which spoke Greek during a full half hour, but no- 
body understood it. But quitting my Romanities, 
to your great joy and mine, let me tell you, in plain 
English, that we come from Albano. The present 
town lies within the enclosure of Pompey's Villa in 
ruins. The Appian Way runs through it, by the 
side of which, a little farther, is a large old tomb, 
with five pyramids upon it, which the learned sup- 
pose to be the burying-place of the family, because 
they do not know whose it can be else. But the 
' vulgar assure you it is the sepulchre of the Curiatii, 
and by that name (such is their power) it goes. 
One drives to Castel Gondolfo, a house of the 
Pope's, situated on the top of one of the Collinette, 
that forms a brim to the basin, commonly called 
the Alban Lake. It is seven miles round; and 
directly opposite to you, on the other side, rises 
the Mons Albanus, much taller than the rest, 
along whose side are still discoverable (not to com- 
mon eyes) certain little ruins of the old Alba Longa. 
They had need be very little, as having been no- 
thing but ruins ever since the days of Tullus Hos- 
tilius. On its top is a house of the Constable 
Colonna's, where stood the temple of Jupiter La- 
tialis. At the foot of the hill Gondolfo are the 
famous outlets of the lake, built with hewn stone, 
a mile and a half under ground. Livy, you know, 
amply informs us of the foolish occasion of this 
expense, and gives me this opportunity of display- 
ing all my erudition, that I may appear consider- 
able in your eyes. This is the prospect from one 
window of the palace. From another you have 
the whole Campagna, the city, Antium, and the 
Tyrrhene sea (twelve miles distant) so distinguish- 
able, that you may see the vessels sailing upon it. 
All this is charming. Mr. Walpole says, our me- 
mory sees more than our eyes in this country : 
Which is extremely true; since, for realities, 



MR. GRAY. 179 

Windsor, or Richmond Hill, is infinitely preferable 
to Albano or Frescati. I am now at home, and 
going to the window to tell you it is the most 
beautiful of Italian nights, which, in truth, are 
but just begun (so backward has the spring been 
here, and every where else, they say). There is a 
moon ! there are stars for you ! Do not you hear 
the fountain ? Do not you smell the orange flowers ? 
That building yonder is the convent of S. Isidore ; 
and that eminence, with the cypress trees and 
pines upon it, the top of M. Quirinal. This is all 
true, and yet my prospect is not two hundred 
yards in length. We send you some Roman in- 
scriptions to entertain you. The first two are 
modern, transcribed from the Vatican library by 
Mr. W T alpole. 

Pontifices olim quern fundav£re priores, 
Prseeipua Sixtus perficit arte tholum*; 

Et Sixti tantum se gloria tollit in altum, 
Quantum se Sixti nobile tollit opus : 

Magnus honos magni fundamina ponere templi, 
Sed finem cceptis ponere major honos. 

Saxa agit Amphion, Thebana ut mcenia condat : 
Sixtus et immensse pondera molis agit f. 

Saxa trahunt ambo longe diversa : sed arte. 
Hsec trahit Amphion ; Sixtus et arte trahit. 

At tantum exsuperat Dircseum Amphiona Sixtus, 
Quantum hie exsuperat castera saxa lapis. 

Mine is ancient, and I think not less curious. 
It is exactly transcribed from a sepulchral marble at 
the villa Giustiniani. I put stops to it, when I 
understand it. 



* Sixtus V. built the dome of St. Peter's, 
t He raised the obelisk in the great area. 



180 MEMOIRS OF 

DIs Manibus 
Claudiae, Pistes 
Primus Conjugi 
Optumae, Sanctae, 
Et Piae, Benemeritate. 

Non aequos, Parcae, statu istis stamina vitae. 

Tarn bene compositos potuistis sede tenere. 

Amissa est conjux. cur ego et ipse moror ? 

Si • bella • esse • mi • iste • mea • vivere • debuit * 

Tristia contigerunt qui amissa conjuge vivo. 

Nil est tarn miserum, quam totam perdere vitam. 

N ec vita enasci dura peregistis crudelia pensa, sorores , 

Ruptaque deficiunt in primo munere fusi. 

G nimis injustse ter denos dare munus in annos, 

Deceptus • grautus • fatum • sic • pressit • egestas • 

Dum vitam tulero, Primus Pistes lugea conjugium. 



LETTER XXII. 

MR. GRAY TO HIS MOTHER. 

Naples, June 17, 1740. 
OUR journey hither was through the most beautiful 
part of the finest country in the world ; and every 
spot of it, on some account or other, famous for 
these three thousand years past *. The season has 

* Mr. Gray wrote a minute description of every 
thing he saw in this tour from Rome to Naples ; as 
also of the environs of Rome, Florence, &c. But 
as these papers are apparently only memorandums 
for his own use, I do not think it necessary to 
print them, although they abound with many un- 
common remarks, and pertinent classical quota- 



MR. GRAY. 131 

hitherto been just as warm as one would wish it ; 
no unwholesome airs, or violent heats, yet heard 
of: the people call it a backward year, and are in 
pain about their corn, wine, and oil ; but we, who 
are neither corn, wine, nor oil, find it very agree- 
able. Our road was through Velletri, Cisterna, 
Terracina, Capua, and Aversa, and so to Naples. 
The minute one leaves his Holiness's dominions, 
the face of things begins to change from wide un- 
cultivated plains to olive groves and well-tilled 
fields of corn, intermixed with ranks of elms, every 
one of which has its vine twining about it, and 
hanging in festoons between the rows from one 
tree to another. The great old fig-trees, the oranges 
in full bloom, and myrtles in every hedge, make 
one of the delightfullest scenes you can conceive ; 
besides that, the roads are wide, well-kept, and full 
of passengers, a sight I have not beheld this long 
time. My wonder still increased upon entering the 
city, which, I think, for number of people, outdoes 
both Paris and London. The streets are one con- 
tinued market, and thronged with populace so 
much that a coach can hardly pass. The common 
sort are a jolly lively kind of animals, more in- 
dustrious than Italians usually are ; they work till 
evening ; then take their lute or guitar (for they 
all play) and walk about the city, or upon the sea- 
shore with it, to enjoy the fresco. One sees their 
little brown children jumping about stark-naked, 
and the bigger ones dancing with castanets, while 
others play on the cymbal to them. Your maps 
will show you the situation of Naples ; it is on the 
most lovely bay in the world, and one of the 
calmest seas: it has many other beauties besides 
those of nature. We have spent two days in visit- 

tions. The reader will please to observe through- 
out this section, that it is not my intention to give 
Mr. Gray's travels, but only extracts from the 
letters which he writ during his travels, 



182 MEMOIRS OF 

ing the remarkable places in the country round it, 
such as the bay of Baias, and its remains of anti- 
quity ; the lake A vermis, and the Solfatara, Charon's 
grotto, &c. We have been in the Sibyls' cave and 
many other strange holes under-ground (I only 
name them, because you may consult Sandys's 
Travels) ; but the strangest hole I ever was in has 
been to-day, at a place called Portici, where his 
Sicilian Majesty has a country-seat. About a year 
ago, as they were digging, they discovered some 
parts of ancient buildings above thirty feet deep in 
the ground : curiosity led them on, and they have 
been digging ever since; the passage they have 
made, with all its turnings and windings, is now 
more than a mile long. As you walk, you see 
parts of an amphitheatre, many houses adorned 
with marble columns, and encrusted with the same ; 
the front of a temple, and several arched vaults of 
rooms painted in fresco. Some pieces of painting 
have been taken out from hence, finer than any 
thing of the kind before discovered, and with these 
the king has adorned his palace ; also a number of 
statues, medals, and gems ; and more are dug out 
every day. This is known to be a Roman town *, 
that in the Emperor Titus's time was overwhelmed 
by a furious eruption of Mount Vesuvius, which is 
hard by. The wood and beams remain so perfect 
that you may see the grain ; but burnt to a coal, 
and dropping into dust upon the least touch. We 
were to-day at the foot of that mountain, which at 
present only smokes a little, where we saw the ma- 
terials that fed the stream of fire, which about four 
years since ran down its side. We have but a few 
days longer to stay here ; too little in conscience for 
such a place. * * * 

* It should seem, by the omission of its name, 
that it was not then discovered to be Ilerculaneum. 



MR. GRAY. 183 



LETTER XXIII. 

MR. GRAY TO RIS FATHER. 

Florence, July 16, 174(>. 
AT my return to this city, the day before yester- 
day, I had the pleasure of finding yours dated June 
the i'ih. The period of our voyages, at least to- 
wards the South, is come, as you wish. We have 
been at Naples, spent nine or ten days there, and 
returned to Rome, where finding no likelihood of 
a pope yet these three months, and quite wearied 
with the formal assemblies, and little society of 
that great city, Mr. Walpole determined to return 
hither to spend the summer, where he imagines he 
shall pass his time more agreeably than in the 
tedious expectation of what, when it happens, 
will only be a great show. For my own part, I 
give up the thoughts of all that with but little 
regret; but the city itself I do not part with so 
easily, which alone has amusements for whole 
years. However, I have passed through all that 
most people do, both ancient and modern ; what 
that is you may see, better than I can tell you, in 
a thousand books. The Conclave we left in greater 
uncertainty than ever ; the more than ordinary 
liberty they enjoy there, and the unusual coolness 
of the season, makes the confinement less dis- 
agreeable to them than common, and, consequently, 
maintains them in their irresolution. There have 
been very high words, one or two (it is said) have 
come even to blows ; two more are dead within this 
last month, Cenci and Portia; the latter died dis- 
tracted; and we left another (Altieri) at the ex- 
tremity : yet nobody dreams of an election till the 
latter end of September. All this gives great scandal 



184 MEMOIRS OF 

to all good Catholics, and every body talks very 
freely on the subject. The Pretender (whom you 
desire an account of) I have had frequent oppor- 
tunities of seeing at church, at the corso, and other 
places ; but more particularly, and that for a whole 
night, at a great ball given by Count Patrizii to 
the Prince and Princess Craon, (who were come to 
Rome at that time, that he might receive from the 
hands of the Emperor's minister there the order of 
the golden fleece) at which he and his two sons 
were present. They are good fine boys, especially 
the younger, who has the more spirit of the two, 
and both danced incessantly all night long. For 
him, he is a thin ill-made man, extremely tall and 
awkward, of a most unpromising countenance, a 
good deal resembling King James the Second, and 
has extremely the air and look of an idiot, par- 
ticularly when he laughs or prays. The first he 
does not often, the latter continually. He lives 
private enough with his little court about him, 
consisting of Lord Dunbar, who manages every 
thing, and two or three of the Preston Scotch lords, 
who would be very glad to make their peace at 
home. 

We happened to be at Naples on Corpus Christi 
Day, the greatest feast in the year, so had an op- 
portunity of seeing their Sicilian Majesties to ad- 
vantage. The King walked in the grand procession, 
and the Queen (being big with child) sat in a bal- 
cony. He followed the Host to the church of St. 
Clara, where high mass was celebrated to a glorious 
concert of music. They are as ugly a little pair as 
one can see : she a pale girl, marked with the 
small-pox ; and he a brown boy with a thin face, a 
huge nose, and as ungain as possible. 

We are settled here with Mr. Mann, in a charm- 
ing apartment ; the river Arno runs under our 
windows, which we can fish out of. The sky is so 
serene, and the air so temperate, that one con- 
tinues 4n the open air all night long in a slight 



MR. GRAY. 185 

nightgown without any danger ; and the marble 
bridge is the resort of every body, where they hear 
music, eat iced fruits, and sup by moon-light; 
though as yet (the season being extremely backward 
every where) these amusements are not begun. 
You see we are now coming northward again, though 
in no great haste ; the Venetian and Milanese ter- 
ritories, and either Germany or the South of France 
(according to the turn the war may take), are all 
that remain for us, that we have not yet seen : as 
to Loretto, and that part of Italy, we have given 
over all thoughts of it. 



LETTER XXIV. 

MR. WEST TO MR. GRAY. 

Bond-street, June 5, 1740. 
I LIVED at the Temple till I was sick of it : I have 
just left it, and find myself as much a lawyer as I 
was when I was in it. It is certain, at least, I may 
study the law here as well as I could there. My 
being in chambers did not signify to me a pinch of 
snuff. They tell me my father was a lawyer, and, 
as you know, eminent in the profession ; and such 
a circumstance must be of advantage to me. My 
uncle too makes some figure in Westminster-hall ; 
and there's another advantage: then my grand- 
father's name would get me many friends. Is it 
not strange that a young fellow, that might enter 
the world with so many advantages, will not know 
his own interest ? &c. &c. — What shall I say in 
answer to all this ? For money, I neither dote upon 
it nor despise it ; it is a necessary stuff enough. 
For ambition, I do not want that neither ; but it is 



186 MEMOIRS OF 

not to sit upon a bench. In short, is it not a dis- 
agreeable thing to force one's inclination, especially 
when one's young ? not to mention that one ought 
to have the strength of a Hercules to go through 
our common law ; which, I am afraid, I have not. 
Well ! but then, say they, if one profession does 
not suit you, you may choose another more to your 
inclination. Now I protest I do not yet know my 
own inclination, and I believe, if that was to be my 
direction, 1 should never fix at all : there is no 
going by a weathercock. — I could say much more 
upon this subject; but there is no talking tete-a- 
tete cross the Alps. Oh, the folly of young men, 
that never know their own interest ! they never 
grow wise till they are ruined ! and then nobody 
pities them, nor helps them. — Dear Gray ! consider 
me in the condition of one that has lived these two 
years without any person that he can speak freely 
to. I know it is very seldom that people trouble 
themselves with the sentiments of those they con- 
verse with; so they can chat about trifles, they 
never care whether your heart aches or no. Are 
you one of these? I think not. But what right 
have I to ask you this question ? Have we known 
one another enough, that I should expect or demand 
sincerity from you? Yes, Gray, I hope we have; 
and I have not quite such a mean opinion of my- 
self, as to think I do not deserve it. — But, signor, 
is it not time for me to ask something about your 
further intentions abroad ? Where do you propose 
going next ? an in Apuliam ? nam illo si adveneris, 
tanquam Ulysses, cognosces tuorum neminem. Vale. 
So Cicero prophesies in the end of one of his letters * 
— and there I end. 

Yours, &c. 

* This letter (written apparently in much agi- 
tation of mind, which Mr. West endeavours to con- 
ceal by an unusual carelessness of manner) is chiefly 
inserted to introduce the answer to it ; which ap- 



MR. GRAY. 187 



LETTER XXV. 

MR. GRAY TO MR. WEST. 

Florence, July 16, 1740. 
YOU do yourself and me justice, in imagining that 
you merit, and that I am capable of sincerity. I 
have not a thought, or even a weakness, I desire to 
conceal from you; and consequently on my side 
deserve to be treated with the same openness of 
heart. My vanity perhaps might make me more 
reserved towards you, if you were one of the heroic 
race, superior to all human failings ; but as mutual 
wants are the ties of general society, so are mutual 
weaknesses of private friendships, supposing them 
mixt with some proportion of good qualities ; for 
where one may not sometimes blame, one does not 
much care ever to praise. All this has the air of 
an introduction designed to soften a very harsh re- 
proof that is to follow ; but it is no such matter : I 
only meant to ask, Why did you change your 
lodging? Was the air bad, or the situation melan- 
choly ? If so, you are quite in the right. Only, is 
it not putting yourself a little out of the way of a 
people, with whom it seems necessary to keep up 
some sort of intercourse and conversation, though 
but little for your pleasure or entertainment, (yet 
there are, I believe, such among them as might 
give you both,) at least for your information in 
that study, which, when I left you, you thought of 

pears to me to be replete with delicate feeling, 
manly sense, and epistolary ease. If the reader 
should think as highly of it as I do, let me remind 
him that the writer was not now quite four and 
twenty years old. 



188 MEMOIRS OF 

applying to ? for that there is a certain study ne- 
cessary to be followed, if we mean to be of any use 
in the world, I take for granted; disagreeable 
enough (as most necessities are), but, I am afraid, 
unavoidable. Into how many branches these studies 
are divided in England, every body knows; and 
between that which you and I had pitched upon, 
and the other two, it was impossible to balance 
long. Examples show one that it is not absolutely 
necessary to be a blockhead to succeed in this pro- 
fession. The labour is long, and the elements dry 
and unentertaining; nor was ever anybody (espe- 
cially those that afterwards made a figure in it) 
amused, or even not disgusted in the beginning; 
yet, upon a further acquaintance, there is surely 
matter for curiosity and reflection. It is strange if, 
among all that huge mass of words, there be not 
somewhat intermixed for thought. Laws have been 
the result of long deliberation, and that not of dull 
men, but the contrary; and have so close a con- 
nexion with history, nay, with philosophy itself, 
that they must partake a little of what they are 
related to so nearly. Besides, tell me, have you 
ever made the attempt? Was not you frighted 
merely with the distant prospect ? Had, the Gothic 
character and bulkiness of those volumes (a tenth 
part of which perhaps it will be no further ne- 
cessary to consult, than as one does a dictionary) 
no ill effect upon your eye ? Are you sure, if Coke 
had been printed by Elzevir, and bound in twenty 
neat pocket volumes, instead of one folio, you 
should never have taken him up for an hour, as 
you would a Tully, or drank your tea over him ? I 
know how great an obstacle ill spirits are to re- 
solution. Do you really think, if you rid ten miles 
every morning, in a week's time you should not 
entertain much stronger hopes of the chancellorship, 
and think it a much more probable thing than you 
do at present ? The advantages you mention are not 
nothing ; our inclinations are more than we imagine 



MR. GRAY, 189 

in our own power ; reason and resolution deter- 
mine them, and support under many difficulties. 
To me there hardly appears to be any medium 
between a public life and a private one; he who 
prefers the first, must put himself in a way of being 
serviceable to the rest of mankind, if he has a 
mind to be of any consequence among them : nay, 
he must not refuse being in a certain degree even 
dependent upon some men who already are so. If 
he has the good fortune to light on such as will 
make no ill use of his humility, there is no shame 
in this : if not, his ambition ought to give place to 
a reasonable pride, and he should apply to the cul- 
tivation of his own mind those abilities which he has 
not been permitted to use for others' service. Such 
a private happiness (supposing a small competence 
of fortune) is almost always in every one's power, 
and the proper enjoyment of age, as the other is the 
employment of youth. You are yet young, have 
some advantages and opportunities, and an un- 
doubted capacity, which you have never yet put to 
the trial. Set apart a few hours, see how the first 
year will agree with you, at the end of it you are 
still the master; if you change your mind, you 
will only have got the knowledge of a little some- 
what that can do no hurt, or give you cause of re- 
pentance. If your inclination be not fixed upon 
any thing else, it is a symptom that you are not 
absolutely determined against this, and warns you 
not to mistake mere indolence for inability. I am 
sensible there is nothing stronger against what I would 
persuade you to, than my own practice ; which may 
make you imagine I think not as I speak. Alas ! it 
is not so ; but I do not act what I think, and I had 
rather be the object of your pity, than that you 
should be that of mine; and, be assured, the ad- 
vantage I may receive from it does not diminish 
my concern in hearing you want somebody to con- 
verse with freely, whose advice might be of more 
weight, and always at hand. We have some time 



190 MEMOIRS OF 

since come to the southern period of our voyages ; 
we spent about nine days at Naples. It is the 
largest and most populous city, as its environs are 
the most deliciously fertile country, of all Italy. 
We sailed in the bay of Baise, sweated in the Sol- 
fatara, and died in the Grotto del Cane, as all 
strangers do ; saw the Corpus Christi procession, 
and the King and the Queen, and the city under- 
ground (which is a wonder I reserve to tell you of 
another time), and so returned to Rome for an- 
other fortnight; left it (left Rome!) and came 
hither for the summer. You have seen * an Epistle 
to Mr. Ashton, that seems to me full of spirit and 
thought, and a good deal of poetic fire. I would 
know your opinion. Now I talk of verses, Mr. 
Walpole and I have frequently wondered you should 
never mention a certain imitation of Spenser, pub* 
lished last year by a t namesake of yours, with 
which we are all enraptured and enmarvailed. 



LETTER XXVI. 



MR. GRAY TO HIS MOTHER. 

Florence, Aug. 21, N. S. 1740. 
IT is some time since I have had the pleasure of 
writing to you, having been upon a little excursion 
cross the mountains to Bologna. We set out from 



* The reader will find this in Dodsley's Mis- 
cellany, and also amongst Mr. Walpole's Fugitive 
Pieces. 

+ Gilbert West, Esq. This poem « On the Abuse 
of Travelling,' is also in Dodsley's Miscellany. 



MR. GRAY. 191 

hence at sunset, passed the Apennines by moon- 
light, travelling incessantly till we came to Bo- 
logna at four in the afternoon next day. There we 
spent a week agreeably enough, and returned as we 
came. The day before yesterday arrived the news 
of a pope ; and I have the mortification of being 
within four days journey of Rome, and not seeing 
his coronation, the heats being violent, and the in- 
fectious air now at its height. We had an instance, 
the other day, that it is not only fancy. Two country 
fellows, strong men, and used to the country about 
Rome, having occasion to come from thence hither, 
and travelling on foot, as common with them, one 
died suddenly on the road ; the other got hither, 
but extremely weak, and in a manner stupid ; he 
was carried to the hospital, but died in two days. 
So, between fear and laziness, we remain here, and 
must be satisfied with the accounts other people 
give us of the matter. The new pope is called 
Benedict XIV. being created cardinal by Benedict 
XIII. the last pope but one. His name is Lara- 
bertini, a noble Bolognese, and archbishop of that 
city. When I was first there, I remember to have 
seen him two or three times; he is a short, fat 
man, about sixty-five years of age, of a hearty, 
merry countenance, and likely to live some years. 
He bears a good character for generosity, affability, 
and other virtues; and, they say, wants neither 
knowledge nor capacity. The worst side of him is, 
that he has a nephew or two ; besides a certain 
young favourite, called Meiara, who is said to have 
had, for some time, the arbitrary disposal of his 
purse and family. He is reported to have made a 
little speech to the cardinals in the Conclave, 
while they were undetermined about an election, 
as follows : * Most eminent lords, here are three 
Bolognese of different characters, but all equaUy 
proper for the popedom. If it be your pleasures 
-to pitch upon a saint, there is Cardinal Gotti ; if 



192 MEMOIRS OF 

upon a politician, there is Aldrovandi; if upon a 
booby, here am I.' The Italian is much more ex- 
pressive, and, indeed, not to be translated; where- 
fore, if you meet with any body that understands 
it, you may show them what he said in the lan- 
guage he spoke it. * Emin ssimi . Sigri. Ci siamo 
tre, diversi si, ma tutti idonei al papato. Se vi 
piace un santo, c' e l'Gotti ; se volete una testa 
scaltra, e politica, c' e l'Aldrovande ; se un cog- 
lione, eeco mi !' Cardinal Coscia is restored to his 
liberty, and, it is said, will be to all his benefices. 
Corsini (the late pope's nephew) as he has had no 
hand in this election, it is hoped, will be called to 
account for all his villanous practices. The Pre- 
tender, they say, has resigned all his pretensions to 
his eldest boy, and will accept of the grand chan- 
cellorship, which is thirty thousand crowns a year ; 
the pension he has at present is only twenty thou- 
sand. I do not affirm the truth of this last article; 
because, if he does, it is necessary he should take 
the ecclesiastical habit, and it will sound mighty 

odd to be called his Majesty the Chancellor. So 

ends my gazette. 



LETTER XXVII. 



MR. GRAY TO MR. WEST. 

Florence, Sept. 25, N. S. 1740. 
WHAT I send you now, as long as it is, is but a 
piece of a poem. It has the advantage of all frag- 
ments, to need neither introduction nor conclusion : 
besides, if you do not like it, it is but imagining 
that which went before, and came after, to be in- 



MR. GRAY. 193 

finitely better. Look in Sandys's Travels for the 
history of Monte Barbaro, and Monte Nuovo. * 



* To save the reader trouble, I here insert the 
passage referred to : — * West of Cicero's Villa stands 
the eminent Gaurus, a stony and desolate mountain, 
in which there are diverse obscure caverns, choaked 
almost with earth, where many have consumed 
much fruitless industry in searching for treasure. 
The famous Lucrine Lake extended formerly from 
Avernus to the aforesaid Gaurus ; but is now no 
other than a little sedgy plash, choaked up by the 
horrible and astonishing eruption of the new 
mountain ; whereof, as oft as I think, I am easy to 
credit whatsoever is wonderful. For who here 
knows not, or who elsewhere will believe, that a 
mountain should arise (partly out of a lake and 
partly out of the sea), in one day and a night, unto 
such a height as to contend in altitude with the 
high mountains adjoining ? Tn the year of our Lord 
1538, on the 29th of September, when for certain 
days foregoing the country hereabout was so vexed 
with perpetual earthquakes, as no one house was 
left so entire as not to expect an immediate ruin; 
after that the sea had retired two hundred paces 
from the shore (leaving abundance of fish, and 
springs of fresh water rising in the bottom), this 
mountain visibly ascended about the second hour 
of the night, with an hideous roaring, horribly vo- 
miting stones and such store of cinders as over- 
whelmed all the building thereabout, and the salu- 
brious baths of Tripergula, for so many ages cele- 
brated ; consumed the vines to ashes, killing birds 
and beasts : the fearful inhabitants of Puzzol flying 
through the dark with their wives and children ; 
naked, defiled, crying out, and detesting their ca- 
lamities. Manifold mischiefs have they suffered by 
the barbarous, yet none like this which nature in- 

K 



194 MEMOIRS OF 

Nee procul infelix se tollit in aethera Gaurus, 
Prospiciens vitreum lugenti vertice pontum : 
Tristior ille diu, et veteri desuetus oliva 
Gaurus, pampineaeque eheu jam nescius umbrae; 
Horrendi tarn saeva premit vicinia montis, 
Attonitumque urget latus, exuritque ferentem. 

Nam fama est olim, media dum rura silebant 
Nocte, Deo victa, et molli perfusa quiete, 
Infremuisse aequor ponti, auditamque per omnes 
Late tellurem surdum immugire cavernas : 
Quo sonitu nemora alta tremunt ; tremit excita tuto 
Parthenopaea sinu, flammantisque ora Vesevi. 
At subito se aperire solum, vastosque recessus 
Pandere sub pedibus, nigraque voragine fauces ; 
Turn piceas cinerum glomerare sub aethere nubes 
Vorticibus rapidis, ardentique imbre procellam. 
Praecipites fug£re ferae, perque avia longe 
Sylvarum fugit pastor, juga per deserta, 
Ah, miser ! increpitans saepe alta voce per umbram 
Nequicquam natos, creditque audire sequentes. 
Atque ille excelso rupis de vertice solus 
Respectans notasque domos, et dulcia regna, 
Nil usquam videt infelix praeter mare tristi 
Lumine percussum, et pallentes sulphure campos, 
Fumumque, flammasque, rotataque turbine saxa. 

Quin ubi detonuit fragor, et lux reddita ccelo ; 
Mcestos confluere agricolas, passuque videres 

flicted. This new mountain, when newly raised, 

had a number of issues ; at some of them smoking 
and sometimes flaming; at others disgorging ri- 
vulets of hot waters; keeping within a terrible 
rumbling ; and many miserably perished that ven- 
tured to descend into the hollowness above. But 
that hollow on the top is at present an orchard, 
and the mountain throughout is bereft of its 
terrors.' — Sandys's Travels, book iv. page 275, 277, 
and 278. 



MR. GRAY. 195 

Tandem iterum timido deserta requirere tecta : 
Sperantes, si forte oculis, si forte darentur 
Uxorum cineres, miserorumve ossa parentum, 
(Tenuia, sed tanti saltem solatia luctus) 
Una colligere et justa. componere in urna. 
Uxorum nusquam cineres, nusquam ossa parentum 
{Spem miseram!) assuetosve Lares, aut rura vide- 

bunt. 
Quippe ubi planities campi diffusa jacebat; 
Mons novus : ille supercilium, frontemque favilla 
Incanum ostentans, ambuscis cautibus, sequor 
Subjectum, stragemque suam, moesta arva, minaci 
Despicit imperio, soloque in littore regnat. 

Hinc infame loci nomen, multosque per annos 
Immemor antiquae laudis, nescire labores 
Vomeris, et nullo tellus revirescere cultu. 
Non avium colles, non carmine matutino 
Pastorum resonare ; adeo undique dirus habebat 
Informes late horror agros saltusque vacantes. 
Saepius et longe detorquens navita proram, 
Monstrabat digito littus, ssevaeque revolvens 
Funera narrabat noctis, veteremque ruinam. 

Montis adhuc facies manet hirta atque aspera 
saxis : 
Sed furor exstinctus jamdudum, et flamma quievit. 
Qua; nascenti aderat ; seu forte bituminis atri 
Defluxere olim rivi, atque effceta lacuna 
Pabula sufficere ardori, viresque recusat ; 
Sive in visceribus meditans incendia, jam nunc 
(Horrendum !) arcanis glomerat genti esse futurse 
Exitio, sparsos tacitusque recolligit ignes. 

Raro per clivos haud secius ordine vidi 
Ganescentem oleam : longum post tempus amicti 
Vite virent tumuli ; patriamque revisere gaudens 
Bacchus, in assuetis tenerum caput exserit arvis 
Vix tandem, infidoque audet se credere ccelo. 



196 MEMOIRS OF 

There was a certain little ode* set out from 
Rome, in a letter of recommendation to you, but 
possibly fell into the enemies' hands, for I never 
heard of its arrival. It is a little impertinent to 
inquire after its welfare ; but you, that are a father, 
will excuse a parent's foolish fondness. Last post I 
received a very diminutive letter : it made excuses 
for its unentertainingness, very little to the pur- 
pose ; since it assured me, very strongly, of your 
esteem, which is to me the thing ; all the rest ap- 
pear but as the petits agremens, the garnishing of 
the dish. P. Bougeant, in his Langage des Betes, 
fancies that your birds, who continually repeat the 
same note, say only in plain terms, ' Je vous aime, 
ma chere; ma chere, je vous aime;" and that those 
of greater genius indeed, with various trills, run 
divisions upon the subject ; but that the fond, 
from whence it all proceeds, is * toujours je vous 
aime.' Now you may, as you find yourself dull or 
in humour, either take me for a chaffinch or 
nightingale ; sing your plain song, or show your 
skill in music, but in the bottom let there be, tou- 
jours, toujours de l'Amitie\ 

As to what you call my serious letter ; be assured, 
that your future state is to me entirely indifferent. 
Do not be angry, but hear me; I mean with re- 
spect to myself. For whether you be at the top of 
Fame, or entirely unknown to mankind ; at the 
Council-table, or Dick's coffee-house; sick and 
simple, or well and wise ; whatever alteration mere 
accident works in you, (supposing it utterly impos- 
sible for it to make any change in your sincerity 
and honesty, since these are conditions sine qu& 
non) 1 do not see any likelihood of my not being 
yours ever. 

* The Alcaic Ode inserted in Letter XXI. 



MR. GRAY. 197 



LETTER XXVIII. 

MR. GRAY TO HIS FATHER. 

Florence, Oct. 9, 1740. 
THE beginning of next spring is the time deter- 
mined for our return at furthest ; possibly it may 
be before that time. How the interim will be em- 
ployed, or what route we shall take, is not so cer- 
tain. If we remain friends with France, upon 
leaving this country we shall cross over to Venice, 
and so return through the cities north of the Po to 
Genoa ; from thence take a felucca to Marseilles, 
and come back through Paris. If the contrary fall 
out, which seems not unlikely, we must take the 
Milanese, and those parts of Italy, in our way to 
Venice; from thence pass through the Tyrol into 
Germany, and come home by the Low-Countries. 
As for Florence, it has been gayer than ordinary 
for this last month, being one round of balls and 
entertainments, occasioned by the arrival of a great 
Milanese lady; for the only thing the Italians 
shine in, is their reception of strangers. At such 
times every thing is magnificence: the more re- 
markable, as in their ordinary course of life they 
are parsimonious, even to a degree of nastiness. I 
saw in one of the vastest palaces in Rome (that of 
Prince Pamfilio) the apartment which he himself 
inhabited, a bed thr.t m : st servants in England would 
disdain to lie in, and furniture much like that of a 
soph at Cambridge, for convenience and neatness. 
This man is worth 30,000Z. sterling a year. As 
for eating, there are not two cardinals in Rome 
that allow more than six paoli, which is three 
shillings a day, for the expense of their table : and 
you may imagine they are still less extravagant 



198 MEMOIRS OF 

here than there. But when they receive a visit 
from any friend, their houses and persons are set 
out to the greatest advantage, and appear in all 
their splendour ; it is, indeed, from a motive of 
vanity, and with the hopes of having it repaid them 
with interest, whenever they have occasion to re- 
turn the visit. I call visits going from one city 
of Italy to another; for it is not so among ac- 
quaintance of the same place on common occasions. 
The new pope has retrenched the charges of his 
own table to a sequin (ten shillings) a meal. The 
applause which all he says and does meets with, is 
enough to encourage him really to deserve fame. 
They say he is an able and honest man ; he is 
reckoned a wit too. The other day, when the 
senator of Rome came to wait upon him, at the 
first compliments he made him the pope pulled off 
his cap : his master of the ceremonies, who stood 
by his side, touched him softly, as to warn him that 
such a condescension was too great in him, and out 
of all manner of rule: upon which he turned to 
him, and said, « Oh ! I cry you mercy, good master ; 
it is true, I am but a novice of a pope; I have not 
yet so much as learned ill manners.' * * * 



LETTER XXIX. 

MR. GRAY TO HIS FATHER. 






Florence,* Jan. 12, 1741. 
WE still continue constant at Florence, at present 
one of the dullest cities in Italy. Though it is 

• Between the date of this and the foregoing 
letter, the reader will perceive an interval of full 



MR. GRAY. 199 

the middle of the Carnival, there are no publid di 
versions; nor is masquerading permitted as yet. 
The Emperor's obsequies are to be celebrated pub- 
lickly the l6th of this month; and after that, it is 
imagined every thing will go on in its usual course. 
In the mean time, to employ the minds of the po- 
pulace, the government has thought fit to bring 
into the city in a solemn manner, and at a great 
expense, a famous statue of the "Virgin, called the 
Madonna dell'Impruneta, from the place of her 
residence, which is upon a mountain seven miles 
off. It never has been practised but at times of 
public calamity; and was done at present to avert 
the ill effects of a late great inundation, which it 
was feared might cause some epidemical distemper. 
It was introduced a fortnight ago in procession, at- 
tended by the council of regency, the senate, the 
nobility, and all the religious orders, on foot and 
bare-headed, and so carried to the great church, 
where it was frequented by an infinite concourse of 
people from all the country round. Among the 
rest I paid my devotions almost every day, and saw 
numbers of people possessed with the devil, who 
were brought to be exorcised. It was indeed in the 
evening, and the church-doors were always shut 
before the ceremonies were finished, so that I could 
not be eye-witness of the event ; but that they 
were all cured is certain, for one never heard any 
more of them the next morning. I am to-night 
just returned from seeing our Lady make her exit 
with the same solemnities she entered. The show 
had a finer effect than before; for it was dark; 
and every body (even those of the mob that could 
afford it) bore a white-wax flambeau. I believe 



three months: as Mr. Gray saw no new places 
during this period, his letters were chiefly of 
news and common occurrences, and are therefore 
omitted. 



200 MEMOIRS OF 

there were at least five thousand of them, and the 
march was near three hours in passing before the 
Window. The subject of all this devotion is sup- 
posed to be a large tile with a rude figure in bas- 
relief upon it. I say supposed, because since the 
time it was found (for it was found in the earth in 
ploughing) only two people have seen it ; the one 
was, by good luck, a saint ; the other was struck 
blind for his presumption. Ever since she has 
been covered with seven veils ; nevertheless, those 
who approach her tabernacle cast their eyes down, 
for fear they should spy her though all her veils. 
Such is the history, as I had it from the lady of the 
house where I stood to see her pass ; with many 
other circumstances ; all which she firmly believes, 
and ten thousand besides. 

We shall go to Venice in about six weeks, or 
sooner. A number of German troops are upon 
their march into this state, in case the King of 
Naples thinks proper to attack it. It is certain he 
has asked the Pope's leave for his troops to pass 
through his country. The Tuscans in general are 
much discontented, and foolish enough to wish for 
a Spanish government, or any rather than this.**** 



LETTER XXX. 



MR. GRAY TO MR. WEST. 






Florence, April 21, 1741. 
I KNOW not what degree of satisfaction it will 
give you to be told that we shall set out from hence 
the 24th of this month, and not stop above a fort- 
night at any place in our way. This I feel, that 
you are the principal pleasure I have to hope for 



MR. GRAY. 201 

in my own country. Try at least to make me 
imagine myself not indifferent to you ; for I must 
own I have the vanity of desiring to be esteemed 
by somebody, and would choose that somebody 
should be one whom I esteem as much as I do 
you. As I am recommending myself to your love, 
methinks I ought to send you my picture (for I 
am no more what I was, some circumstances ex- 
cepted, which I hope I need not particularize to 
you) ; you must add then, to your former idea, 
two years of age, a reasonable quantity of dulness, 
a great deal of silence, and something that rather 
resembles, than is, thinking ; a confused notion of 
many strange and fine things that have swum 
before my eyes for some time, a want of love for 
general society, indeed an inability to it. On the 
good side you may add a sensibility for what others 
feel, and indulgence for their faults or weaknesses, 
a love of truth, and detestation of every thing else. 
Then you are to deduct a little impertinence, a 
little laughter, a great deal of pride, and some 
spirits. These are all the alterations I know of, 
you perhaps may find more. Think not that I 
have been obliged for this reformation of manners 
to reason or reflection, but to a severer school- 
mistress, Experience. One has little merit in 
learning her lessons, for one cannot well help it ; 
but they are more useful than others, and imprint 
themselves in the very heart. I find I have been 
haranguing in the style of the son of Sirach, so 
shall finish here, and tell you that our route is 
settled as follows : First to Bologna for a few days, 
to hear the Viscontina sing ; next to Reggio, where 
is a fair. Now, you must know, a fair here is not 
a place where one eats gingerbread or rides upon 
hobby-horses; here are no musical clocks, nor 
tall Leicestershire women ; one has nothing but 
masking, gaming, and singing. If you love operas, 
there will be the most splendid in Italy, four tip- 
top voices, a new theatre, the Duke and Duchess 

K 2 



202 MEMOIRS OF 

in all their pomps and vanities. Does not this 
sound magnificent? Yet is the city of Reggio but 
one step above Old Brentford. Well; next to 
Venice by the llth of May, there to see the old 
Doge wed the Adriatic Whore. Then to Verona, 
so to Milan, so to Marseilles, so to Lyons, so to 
Paris, so to West, &c. in saecula saeculorum. 
Amen. 

Eleven months, at different times, have I passed 
at Florence; and yet (God help me) know not 
either people or language. Yet the place and the 
charming prospects demand a poetical farewell, and 
here it is. 

* * Oh Fsesulae amcena 
Frigoribus juga, nee nimium spirantibus auris, 
Alma quibus Tusci Pallas decus Apennini 
Esse dedit, glaucaque sua canescere sylva ! 
Non ego vos posthac Ami de valle videbo 
Portieibus circum, et candenti cincta corona 
Villarum longe nitido consurgere dorso, 
Antiquamve iEdem, et veteres praeferre Cupressus 
Mirabor, tectisque super pendentia tecta. 

I will send you, too, a pretty little sonnet of a 
Sig r . Abbate Buondelmonte, with my imitation of 
it. 



Spesso Amor sotto la forma 
D'amista ride, e s'asconde: 
Poi si mischia, e si confonde 
Con lo sdegno, e col rancor. 
In Pietade ei si trasforma ; v 
Par trastullo, e par dispetto : 
\ Ma nel suo di verso aspetto 
Sempr'egli, e l'istesso Amor. 

Lusit amicitiae interdum velatus amietu, 
Et bene composite veste fefellit Amor: 

Mqx irae assumsit cultus, faciemque minantem, 
Inque odium versus, versus et in lacrymas : 






MR. GRAY. 203 

Ludentem fuge, nee lacrymanti, aut crede furenti ; 
Idem est dissimili semper in ore Deus. 

Here comes a letter from you. — I must defer 
giving my opinion of * Pausanias till I. can see the 
whole, and only have said what 1 did in obedience 
to your commands. I have spoken with such free- 
dom on this head, that it seems but just you should 
have your revenge, and therefore I send you the 
beginning not of an epic poem, but of t a meta- 
physic one. Poems and metaphysics (say you, 
with your spectacles on) are inconsistent things- 
A metaphysical poem is a contradiction in terms. 
It is true, but I will go on. It is Latin too, to in- 
crease the absurdity. It will, I suppose, put you 
in mind of the man who wrote a treatise of canon 
law in hexameters. Pray help me to the de- 
scription of a mixt mode, and a little episode about 
space. 



Mr. Walpole and Mr. Gray set out from Florence 
at the time specified in the foregoing letter. When 
Mr. Gray left Venice, which he did the middle of 
July following, he returned home through Padua, 



• Some part of a tragedy under that title, which 
Mr. West had begun ; but I do not find amongst 
Mr. Gray's papers either the sketch itself, or Mr. 
Gray's free critique upon it, which he here men- 
tions. 

t The beginning of the first book of a didactic 
poem, * De Principiis Cogitandi.' The fragment 
which he now sent contained the first 53 lines. 
The reader will find a further account of his design, 
and all that he finished of the poem, in a subse- 
quent section. 



204 MEMOIRS OF 

Verona, Milan, Turin, and Lyons : from all which 
places he writ either to his father or mother with 
great punctuality ; but merely to inform them of 
his health and safety, about which (as might be 
expected) they were now very anxious, as he 
travelled with only a « Laquais de Voyage.' These 
letters do not even mention that he went out of his 
way to make a second visit to the Grande Char- 
treuse*, and there wrote in the Album of the 
Fathers the following Alcaic t Ode, with which I 
conclude this section. 



ODE. 

Oh Tu, severi Religio loci, 
Quocunque gaudes nomine (non leve 
Nativa nam eerte fluenta 

Numen habet, veteresque sylvas ; 
Praesentiorem et eonspicimus Deum 
Per invias rupes, fera per juga, 
Clivosque praeruptos, sonantes 

Inter aquas, nemorumque noctem ; 
Quam si repostus sub trabe citrea 
Fulgeret auro, et Phidiaca manu) 

*. He was at Turin the 15th of August, and began 
to cross the Alps the next day. On the 25th he 
reached Lyons; therefore it must have been be- 
tween these two dates that he made this visit. 

t We saw in the 8th and llth letters how much 
Mr. Gray was struck with the awful scenery which 
surrounds the Chartreuse, at a time his mind must 
have been in a far more tranquil state than when he 
wrote this excellent Ode. It is marked, I think, 
with all the finest touches of his melancholy Muse, 
and flows with such an originality of expression, 
that one can hardly lament he did not honour his 
own language by making it the vehicle of this noble 
imaginary and pathetic sentiment. 



MR. GRAY. 205 

Salve vocanti rite, fesso et 
Da placidam juveni quietem. 
Quod si invidendis sedibus, et frui 
Fortuna sacri lege silentii 
Vetat volentem, me resorbens 
In medios violenta fluctus : 
Saltern remoto des, Pater, angulo 
Horas senectse ducere liberas ; 
Tutumque vulgari tumultu 
Surripias, hominumque curis. 



END OP THE SECOND SECTION. 



206 



SECTION III. 



WHEN Mr. Gray returned from abroad, he found 
his father's constitution almost entirely worn out 
by the very severe attacks of the gout, to which he 
had been for many years subject; and indeed the 
next return of that distemper was fatal to him* 
* This happened about two months after his son 
reached London. 

It has been before observed, that Mr. Philip 
Gray was of a reserved and indolent temper ; he 
was also morose, unsocial, and obstinate ; defects 
which, if not inherent in his disposition, might 
probably arise from his bodily complaints. His in- 
dolence had led him to neglect the business of his 
profession ; t his obstinacy, to build a country- 

* He came to town about the 1st of September, 
1741. His father died the 6th of November fol- 
lowing, at the age of sixty-five. 

t His business was that which at the time was 
called a money-scrivener ; and it may not be amiss 
to mention, for the singularity of the thing, that 
Milton's father was of the same profession : but he 
also had < music in his soul,' and was esteemed a 
considerable master in that science. Some of his 
compositions are extant in Old Wilby's Set of Airs, 
and in Ravenscroft's Psalms. The great poet al- 
ludes finely both to the musical genius and the trade 
of his father in those beautiful hexameters, " Ad 
Patrem," which are inserted amongst his Latin 
poems. 



MEMOIRS OF MR. GRAY. 207 

house at Wanstead, without acquainting either his 
wife or son with the design (to which he knew they 
would be very averse) till it was executed. This 
building, which he undertook late in life, was at- 
tended with very considerable expense, which 
might almost be called so much money thrown 
away ; since, after his death, it was found neces- 
sary to sell the house for two thousand pounds less 
than its original cost. Mr. Gray, therefore, at this 
time found his patrimony so small, that it would 
by no means enable him to prosecute the study of 
the law, without his becoming burthensome to his 
mother and aunt. These two sisters had for many 
years carried on a trade * separate from that of Mrs. 
Gray's husband ; by which having acquired what 
would support them decently for the rest of their 
lives, they left off business soon after his death, and 
retired to Stoke, near Windsor, to the house of their 
other sister, Mrs. Rogers, lately become the widow 
of a gentleman t of that name. Both of them 
wished Mr. Gray to follow the profession for which 
he, had been originally intended, and would un- 
doubtedly have contributed all in their power to 
enable him to do it with ease and conveniency. 
He, on his part, though he had taken his resolution 
of declining it, was too delicate to hurt two persons 
for whom he had so tender an affection, by per- 
emptorily declaring his real intentions ; and there- 
fore changed, or pretended to change, the line of 
that study ; and, accordingly, the latter end of the 
subsequent year went to Cambridge, to take his 
bachelor's degree in civil law. 

But the narrowness of his circumstances was not 

* They kept a kind of India warehouse on Corn- 
hill, under the joint names of Gray and Antrobus. 

t Mr. Rogers had in the earlier part of his life 
followed the profession of the law, but retired from 
business many years before his death. I suppose 
he was the uncle mentioned in Letter ix. Sect. 1. 



g08 MEMOIRS OF 

the only thing that distressed him at this period. 
He had, as we have seen, lost the friendship of Mr. 
Walpole abroad : he had also lost much time in 
his travels; a loss which application could not 
easily retrieve, when so severe and laborious a 
study as that of the common law was to be the 
object of it; and he well knew that, whatever im- 
provement he might have made in this interval, 
either in taste or science, such Improvement would 
stand him in little stead with regard to his present 
situation and exigencies. This was not all : his 
other friend, Mr. West, he found, on his return, 
oppressed by sickness and a load of family mis- 
fortunes ; which, were I fully acquainted with them, 
it would not be my inclination here to dwell upon. 
These the sympathizing heart of Mr. Gray made 
his own. He did all in his power (for he was now 
with him in London) to soothe the sorrows of his 
friend, and to try to alleviate them by every office 
of the purest and most perfect affection : but his 
cares were vain. The distresses of Mr. West's 
mind had already too far affected a body, from the 
first, weak and delicate. His health declined daily, 
and, therefore, he left town in March 1742, and, 
for the benefit of the air, went to David Mitchell's 
Esq., at Popes, near Hatfield, Hertfordshire; at 
whose house he died the 1st of June following. 

It is from this place, and from the former date, 
that this third series of letters commences. 



MR. GRAY. 209 



LETTER L* 

MR. WEST TO MR. GRAY. 

I WRITE to make you write, for I have not much 
to tell you. I have recovered no spirits as yet ; 
but, as I am not displeased with my company, I 
sit purring by the fire-side in my arm-chair with no 
small satisfaction. I read too sometimes, and have 
begun Tacitus, but have not yet read enough to 
j udge of him ; only his Pannonian sedition in the 
first book of his Annals, which is just as far as I 
have got, seemed to me a little tedious. I have no 
more to say, but to desire you will write letters of 
a handsome length, and .always answer me within a 
reasonable space of time, which I leave to your 
discretion. 

Popes, March 28, 1742. 

P. <S. The new Dunciad ! qu'en pensez vous ? 



LETTER II. 

MR. GRAY TO MR. WEST. 

I TRUST to the country, and that easy indolence 
you say you enjoy there, to restore you your 
health and spirits ; and doubt not but, when the 
sun grows warm enough to tempt you from your 

* This letter is inserted as introductory only to 
the answer which follows. 



210 MEMOIRS OF 

fire-side, you will (like all other things) be the 
better for his influence. He is my old friend, and 
an excellent nurse, I assure you. Had it not been 
for him, life had often been to me intolerable. 
Pray do not imagine that Tacitus, of all authors in 
the world, can be tedious. An annalist, you know, 
is by no means master of his subject; and I think 
one may venture to say, that if those Pannonian 
affairs are tedious in his hands, in another's they 
would have been insupportable. However, fear 
not, they will soon be over, and he will make 
ample amends. A man, who could join the bril- 
liant of wit and concise sententiousness peculiar to 
that age, with the truth and gravity of better times, 
and the deep reflection and good sense of the best 
moderns, cannot choose but have something to 
strike you. Yet what I admire in him above all 
this, is his detestation of tyranny, and the high 
spirit of liberty that every now and then breaks 
out, as it were, whether he would or no. I re- 
member a sentence in his Agricola that (concise as 
it is) I always admired for saying much in a little 
compass. He speaks of Domitian, who upon seeing 
the last will of that general, where he had made 
him coheir with his wife and daughter, ' Satis con- 
stabat laetatum eum, velut honore, judicioque : 
tarn cseca et corrupta mens assiduis adulationibus 
erat, ut nesciret a bono patre non scribi haeredem, 
nisi malum principem.' 

As to the Dunciad, it is greatly admired: the 
Genii of Operas and Schools, with their attendants, 
the pleas of the Virtuosos and Florists, and the 
yawn of Dulness in the end, are as fine as any 
thing he has written. The Metaphysicians' part is 
to me the worst ; and here and there a few ill-ex- 
pressed lines, and some hardly intelligible. 

I take the liberty of sending you a Jong speech 
of Agrippina ; much too long, but I could be glad 
you would retrench it. Aceronia, you may re- 
member, had been giving quiet counsels. I fancy, 



MR. GRAY. 211 

if it ever be finished, it will be in the nature of 
Nat. Lee's Bedlam Tragedy, which had twenty-five 
acts and some odd scenes. 



The speech herewith sent to Mr. West was the 
concluding one of the first scene of a tragedy, which 
I believe was begun the preceding winter. The 
Britanricus of Mr. Racine, I know was one of Mr. 
Gray's most favourite plays ; and the admirable 
manner in which I have heard him say that he saw 
it represented at Paris *, seems to have led him to 
choose the death of Agrippina for this his first and 
only effort in the drama. The execution of it also, 
as far as it goes, is so very much in Racine's taste, 
that I suspect, if that great poet had been born an 
Englishman, he would have written precisely in 
the same style and manner. However, as there is 
at present in this nation a general prej udice against 
declamatory plays, I agree with a learned friend, 
who perused the manuscript, that this fragment 
will be little relished by the many ; yet the ad- 
mirable strokes of nature and character with which 
it abounds, and the majesty of its diction, prevent 
me from withholding from the few, who I expect 
will relish it, so great a curiosity (to call it nothing 
more) as part of a tragedy written by Mr. Gray. 
These persons well know, that till style and senti- 
ment be a little more regarded, mere action and 
passion will never secure reputation to the author, 
whatever they may do to the actor. It is the bu- 
siness of the one * to strut and fret his hour upon 
the stage;' and if he frets and struts enough, he is 
sure to find his reward in the plaudit of an upper 
gallery; but the other ought to have some regard 

* By Mademoiselle Dumesnil. 



212 MEMOIRS OF 

to the cooler judgment of the closet : for I will be 
bold to say, that if Shakspeare himself had not 
written a multitude of passages which please there 
as much as they do on the stage, his reputation 
would not stand so universally high as it does at 
present. Many of these passages, to the shame of 
our theatrical taste, are omitted constantly in the 
representation : but I say not this from conviction 
that the mode of writing, which Mr. Gray pur- 
sued, is the best for dramatic purposes. I think 
myself, what 1 have asserted elsewhere*, that a 
medium between the French and English taste 
would be preferable to either; and yet this me- 
dium, if hit with the greatest nicety, would fail of 
success on our theatre, and that for a very obvious 
reason. Actors (I speak of the troop collectively) 
must all learn to speak as well as act, in order to 
do justice to such a drama. 

But let me hasten to give the reader what little 
insight I can into Mr. Gray's plan, as I find, and 
select it from two detached papers. The title and 
dramatis personae are as follow : 



AGRIPPINA: 

A TRAGEDY. 

DRAMATIS PERSONS. 

Agrippina, the Empress mother. 

Nero, the Emperor. 

Popp&a, believed to be in love with Otbo. 

Otho, a young man of quality, in love with Poppaea. 

Seneca, the Emperor's preceptor. 

Anirttus, Captain of the guards. 

Demetrius, the Cynic, friend to Seneca. 

Aceronia, Confidant to Agrippina. 

* See Letters prefixed to Elfrida, particularly 
Letter II. 



MR. GRAY. 213 

SCENE.— The Emperors* Villa at Baue. 

The argument drawn out by him, in these two 
papers, under the idea of a plot and under-plot, I 
shall here unite ; as it will tend to show that the 
action itself was possessed of sufficient unity. 

The drama opens with the indignation of Agrip- 
pina, at receiving her son's orders from Anicetus to 
remove from Baise, and to have her guard taken 
from her. At this time Otho having conveyed 
Foppeea from the house of her husband Rufus 
Crispinus, brings her to Baiae, where he means to 
conceal her among the crowd ; or, if his fraud is 
discovered, to have recourse to the Emperor's au- 
thority; but, knowing the lawless temper of Nero, 
he determines not to have recourse to that expe- 
dient, but on the utmost necessity. In the mean 
time he commits her to the care of Anicetus, whom 
he takes to be his friend, and in whose age he 
thinks he may safely confide. Nero is not yet 
come to Baiae; but Seneca, whom he sends before 
him, informs Agrippina of the accusation con- 
cerning Rubellius Plancus, and desires her to clear 
herself, which she does briefly ; but demands to 
see her son, who, on his arrival, acquits her of all 
suspicion, and restores her to her honours. In the 
mean while Anicetus, to whose care Poppsea had 
been entrusted by Otho, contrives the following 
plot to ruin Agrippina : he betrays his trust to Otho, 
and brings Nero, as it were by chance, to the sight 
of the beautiful Poppaea; the Emperor is imme- 
diately struck with her charms, and she, by a 
feigned resistance, increases his passion ; though, 
in reality, she is from the first dazzled with the 
prospect of empire, and forgets Otho : she there- 
fore joins with Anicetus in his design of ruining 
Agrippina, soon perceiving that it will be for hex 
interest. Otho, hearing that the Emperor had seen 
Poppaea, is much enraged ; but not knowing that 



214 MEMOIRS OF 

this interview was obtained through the treachery 
of Anicetus, is readily persuaded by him to see 
Agrippina in secret, and acquaint her with his fears 
that her son Nero would marry Poppaea. Agrip- 
pina, to support her own power, and to wean the 
Emperor from the love of Poppaea, gives Otho 
encouragement, and promises to support him. 
Anicetus secretly introduces Nero to hear their 
discourse ; who resolves immediately on his mo- 
ther's death, and, by Anicetus's means, to destroy 
her by drowning. A solemn feast, in honour of 
their reconciliation, is to be made; after which 
she being to go by sea to Bauli, the ship is so con- 
trived as to sink or crush her ; she escapes by acci- 
dent, and returns to Baiae. In this interval, Otho 
has an interview with Poppaea ; and being duped a 
second time by Anicetus and her, determines to fly 
with her into Greece, by means of a vessel which 
is to be furnished by Anicetus ; but he, pretending 
to remove Poppaea on board in the night, conveys 
her to Nero's apartment : she there encourages and 
determines Nero to banish Otho, and finish the 
horrid deed he had attempted on his mother. 
Anicetus undertakes to execute his resolves ; and, 
under pretence of a plot upon the Emperor's life, 
is sent with a guard to murder Agrippina, who 
is still at Baia? in imminent fear, and irresolute 
how to conduct herself. The account of her death, 
and the Emperor's horror and fruitless remorse, 
finishes the drama. 

I refer the reader to the 13th and 14th books of 
the Annals of Tacitus for the facts on which this 
story is founded: by turning to that author, he 
will easily see how far the poet thought it necessary 
to deviate from the truth of history. I shall only 
further observe, that as such a fable could not pos- 
sibly admit of any good character, it is terror only 
and not pity that could be excited by this tragedy, 
had it been completed. Yet it was surely capable 
of exciting this passion in a supreme degree, if 



MR. GRAY. ' 215 

what the critics tell us be true, that crimes, which 
illustrious persons commit, affect us from the very 
circumstance of their rank, because we unite with 
that our fears for the public weal. 



ACT I.— SCENE I. 



AGRIPPINA, ACE RON I A. 



AGRIPPINA. 

'TIS well, begone ! your errand is performed: 

[Speaks as to Anicetus entering* 
The message needs no comment. Tell your master, 
His mother shall obey him. Say you saw her 
Yielding due reverence to his high command : 
Alone, unguarded, and without a lictor, 
As fits the daughter of Germanieus. 
Say, she retired to Antium ; there to tend 
Her household cares, a woman's best employment. 
What if you add, how she turn'd pale, and trembled ; 
You think, you spied a tear stand in her eye, 
And would have dropped, but that her pride re- 

strain'd it ? 
(Go ! you can paint it well) 'twill profit you, 
And please the stripling. Yet 'twould dash his joy 
To hear the spirit of Britannicus 
Yet walks on earth ; at least there are who know 
Without a spell to raise, and bid it fire 
A thousand haughty hearts, unused to shake 
When a boy frowns, nor to be lured with smiles 



216 MEMOIRS OF 

To taste of hollow kindness, or partake 

His hospitable board : they are aware 

Of th' unpledged bowl, they love not aconite. 

ACERONIA. 
He's gone ; and much I hope these walls alone, 
And the mute air, are privy to your passion. 
Forgive your servant's fears, who sees the danger 
Which fierce resentment cannot fail to raise 
In haughty youth, and irritated power. 

AGRIPPINA. 
And dost thou talk to me, to me, of danger, 
Of haughty youth, and irritated power ; 
To her that gave it being, her that arm'd 
This painted Jove, and taught his novice hand 
To aim the forked bolt ; while he stood trembling, 
Scared at the sound, and dazzled with its brightness ? 
'Tis like, thou hast forgot, when yet a stranger 
To adoration, to the grateful steam 
Of flattery's incense, and obsequious vows 
From voluntary realms, a puny boy, 
Decked with no other lustre than the blood 
Of Agrippina's race, he lived unknown 
To fame, or fortune ; haply eyed at distance 
Some edileship, ambitious of the power 
To judge of weights and measures; scarcely dared 
On expectation's strongest wing to soar 
High as the consulate, that empty shade 
Of long-forgotten liberty ; when I 
Oped his young eye to bear the blaze of greatness ; 
Show'd him where empire tower'd, and bade him 

strike 
The noble quarry. Gods ! then was the time 
To shrink from danger ; fear might then have worn 
The mask of prudence : but a heart like mine, 
A heart that glows with the pure Julian fire — 
If bright Ambition from her craggy seat 
Display the radiant prize, will mount undaunted, 
Gain the rough heights, and grasp the dangerous 

honour. 



MR. GRAY. 217 

ACERONIA. 

Through various life I have pursued your steps, 
Have seen your soul, and wonder'd at its daring : 
Hence rise my fears. Nor am I yet to learn 
How vast the debt of gratitude, which Nero 
To such a mother owes ; the world, you gave him, 
Suffices not to pay the obligation. 

I well remember too (for I was present) 
When in a secret and dead hour of night, 
Due sacrifice perform'd with barb'rous rites 
Of mutter'd charms, and solemn invocation, 
You bad the Magi call the dreadful powers, 
That read futurity, to know the fate 
Impending o'er your son : their answer was, 
If the son reign, the mother perishes. 
Perish (you cried) the mother ! reign the son ! 
He reigns, the rest is heaven's ; who oft has bad, 
Ev'n when its will seem'd wrote in lines of blood, 
Th' un thought event disclose a whiter meaning. 
Think too how oft in weak and sickly minds 
The sweets of kindness lavishly indulged 
Rankle to gall ; and benefits too great 
To be repaid, sit heavy on the soul, 
As unrequited wrongs. The willing homage 
Of prostrate Rome, the senate's joint applause, 
The riches of the earth, the train of pleasures, 
That wait on youth, and arbitrary sway ; 
These were your gift, and with them you bestow'd 
The very power he has to be ungrateful. 

AGRIPPINA. 

Thus ever grave, and undisturb'd reflection 
Pours its cool dictates in the madding ear 
Of rage, and thinks to quench the fire it feels not. 
Say'st thou I must be cautious, must be silent, 
And tremble at the phantom I have raised ? 
Carry to him thy timid counsels : he 
Perchance may heed 'em. Tell him too, that one, 
Who had such liberal power to give, may still 

L 



218 MEMOIRS OF 

With equal power resume that gift, and raise 
A tempest, that shall shake her own creation 
To its original atoms— tell me ! say 
This mighty emperor, this dreaded hero, 
Has he beheld the glittering front of war ? 
Knows his soft ear the trumpet's thrilling voice, 
And outcry of the battle ? Have his limbs 
Sweat under iron harness ? Is he not 
The silken son of dalliance, nursed in ease 
And pleasure's flowery lap ? — Rubellius lives, 
And Sylla has his friends, though school'd by fear 
To bow the supple knee, and court the times 
With shows of fair obeisance ; and a call, 
Like mine, might serve belike to wake pretensions 
Drowsier than theirs, who boast the genuine blood 
Of our imperial house. 

ACERONIA. 
Did I not wish to check this dangerous passion, 
I might remind my mistress that her nod 
Can rouse eight hardy legions, wont to stem 
With stubborn nerves the tide, and face the rigour 
Of bleak Germania's snows. Four, not less brave, 
That in Armenia quell the Parthian force 
Under the warlike Corbulo, by you 
Mark'd for their leader : these, by ties confirm'd, 
Of old respect and gratitude, are yours. 
Surely the Masians too, and those of Egypt, 
Have not forgot your sire : the eye of Rome 
And the Praetorian camp have long revered, 
With custom'd awe, the daughter, sister, wife, 
And mother of their Caesars. 

AGRIPPINA. 

Ha ! by Juno, 

It bears a noble semblance. On this base 
My great revenge shall rise ; or say we sound 
The trump of liberty ; there will not want, 
Even in the servile senate, ears to own 
Her spirit-stirring voice ; Soranus there, 



MR. GRAY. 219 

And Cassius; Vetus too, and Thrasea, 

Minds of the antique cast, rough, stubborn souls, 

That struggle with the yoke. How shall the spark 

Unquenchable, that glows within their breasts, 

Blaze into freedom, when the idle herd 

(Slaves from the womb, created but to stare, 

And bellow in the Circus) yet will start, 

And shake 'em at the name of liberty, 

Stung by a senseless word, a vain tradition, 

As there were magic in it ? wrinkled beldams 

Teach it their grandchildren, as somewhat rare 

That anciently appear'd, but when, extends 

Beyond their chronicle — oh ! 'tis a cause 

To arm the hand of childhood, and rebrace 

The slacken'd sinews of time-wearied age. 

Yes, we may meet, ingrateful boy, we may ! 
Again the buried genius of old Rome 
Shall from the dust uprear his reverend head, 
Roused by the shout of millions : there before 
His high tribunal thou and I appear. 
Let majesty sit on thy awful brow, 
And lighten from thy eye : around thee call 
The gilded swarm that wantons in the sunshine 
Of thy dull favour ; Seneca be there 
In gorgeous phrase of labour'd eloquence 
To dress thy plea, and Burrhus strengthen it 
With his plain soldier's oath, and honest seeming. 
Against thee, liberty and Agrippina : 
The world, the prize ; and fair befall the victors. 

But soft ! why do I waste the fruitless hours 
In threats unexecuted ? Haste thee, fly 
These hated walls, that seem to mock my shame, 
And cast me forth in duty to their lord. 

ACERONIA. 

'Tis time we go, the sun is high advanced, 
I And, ere mid-day, Nero will come to Baia?. 

AGRIPPINA. 
My thought aches at him ; not the basilisk 



220 MEMOIRS OF 

More deadly to the sight, than is to me 
The cool injurious eye of frozen kindness. 
I will not meet its poison. Let him feel 
Before he sees me. 

ACERONIA. 

Why then stays my sovereign, 
Where he so soon may 

AGRIPPINA. 

Yes, I will be gone, 
But not to Antium — all shall be confess'd, 
Whate'er the frivolous tongue of giddy fame 
Has spread among the crowd; things, that but 

whisper'd 
Have arch'd the hearer's brow, and riveted 
His eyes in fearful extasy : no matter 
What ; so't be strange, and dreadful. — Sorceries, 
Assassinations, poisonings — the deeper 
My guilt, the blacker his ingratitude. 

And you, ye manes of ambition's victims, 
Enshrined Claudius, with the pitied ghosts 
Of the Syllani, doom'd to early death, 
(Ye unavailing horrors, fruitless crimes!) 
If from the realms of night my voice ye hear, 
In lieu of penitence, and vain remorse, 
Accept my vengeance. Though by me ye bled, 
He was the cause. My love, my fears for him 
Dried the soft springs of pity in my heart, 
And froze them up with deadly cruelty. 
Yet if your injured shades demand my fate, 
If murder cries for murder, blood for blood, 
Let me not fall alone : but crush his pride, 
And sink the traitor in his mother's ruin. 

{Exeunt, 



MR. GRAY. 221 

SCENE II. 



OTHO, POPPJEA. 



OTHO. 

Thus far we're safe. Thanks to the rosy queen 
Of amorous thefts : and had her wanton son 
Lent us his wings, we could not have beguiled 
With more elusive speed the dazzled sight 
Of wakeful jealousy. Be gay securely; 
Dispel, my fair, with smiles, the tim'rous cloud 
That hangs on thy clear brow. So Helen look'd, 
So her white neck reclined, so was she borne 
By the young Trojan to his gilded bark 
With fond reluctance^ yielding modesty, 
And oft reverted eye, as if she knew not 
Whether she fear'd, or wish'd to be pursued. 



LETTER III. 



MR. WEST TO MR. GRAY. 

Popes, April 4, 1742. 
I OWN in general I think Agrippina's speech too 
long * ; but how to retrench it, I know not : but I 

* The editor has obviated this objection, not by 
retrenching, but by putting part of it into the mouth 



22% MEMOIRS OF 

have something else to say, and that is in relation 
to the style, which appears to me too antiquated. 
Racine was of another opinion ; he nowhere gives 
you the phrases of Ronsard : his language is the 
language of the times, and that of the purest sort ; 
so that his French is reckoned a standard. I will 
not decide what style is fit for our English stage ; 
l>ut I should rather choose one that bordered upon 
Cato, than upon Shakspeare. - One may imitate (if 
one can) Shakspeare's manner, his surprising strokes 
of true nature, his expressive force in painting cha- 
racters, and all his other beauties ; preserving at 
the same time our own language. Were Shakspeare 
alive now, he would write a different style from 
what he did. These are my sentiments upon these 
matters : perhaps I am wrong, for I am neither a 
Tarpa, nor am I quite an Aristarchus. You see I 
write freely both of you and Shakspeare; but it is 
as good as writing not freely, where you know it is 
acceptable. 

I have been tormented within this week with 
a most violent cough ; for when once it sets up its 
note, it will go on, cough after cough, shaking and 
tearing me for half an hour together ; and then it 
leaves me in a great sweat, as much fatigued as if 
I had been labouring at the plough. All this de- 
scription of my cough in prose is only to introduce 
another description of it in verse, perhaps not 
worth your perusal ; but it is very short, and be- 
sides has this remarkable in it, that it was the pro- 
duction of four o'clock in the morning, while I lay 
in my bed tossing and coughing, and all unable to 
sleep. 



of Aceronia, and by breaking it in a few other 
places. Originally it was one continued speech 
from the line * Thus ever grave and undisturbed 
reflection' to the end of the scene ; which was un- 
doubtedly too long for the lungs of any actress. 



MR. GRAY. %%% 

Ante omnes raorbos importunissima tussis, 
Qua durare datur, traxitque sub ilia vires : 
Dura etenim versans imo sub pectore regna, 
Perpetuo exercet teneras luctamine costas, 
Oraque distorquet, vocemque immutat anhelam : 
Nee cessare locus : sed saevo eoncita motu 
Molle domat latus, et corpus labor omne fatigat: 
Unde molesta dies, noctemque insomnia turbant. 
Nee Tua, si meeum Conies hie jucundus adesses, 
Verba juvare queant, aut hunc lenire dolorem 
Sufficiant tua vox duleis, nee vultus amatus. 

Do not mistake me, I do not condemn Tacitus : 
I was then inclined to find him tedious : the German 
sedition sufficiently made up for it ; and the speech 
of Germanicus, by which he reclaims his soldiers, 
is quite masterly. Your New Dunciad I have no 
conception of. I shall be too late for our dinner if 
I write any more. 

Yours. 



LETTER IV. 

MR. GRAY TO MR. WEST. 

London, April, Thursday. 
YOU are the first who ever made a Muse of a 
cough; to me it seems a much more easy task to 
versify in one's sleep (that indeed you were of old 
famous for *), than for want of it. Not the wake- 
ful nightingale (when she had a cough) ever sung, 
so sweetly. I give you thanks for your warble, and 
wish you could sing yourself to rest. These wicked 

* I suppose at Eton school. 



224 MEMOIRS OF 

remains of your illness will sure give way to warm 
weather and gentle exercise ; which I hope you- 
will not omit as the season advances. Whatever 
low spirits and indolence, the effect of them, may 
advise to the contrary, I pray you add five steps to 
your walk daily for my sake; by the help of 
which, in a month's time, I propose to set you on 
horseback. 

I talked of the Dunciad as concluding you had 
seen it ; if you have not, do you choose I should 
get and send it to you ? I have myself, upon your 
recommendation, been reading Joseph Andrews. 
The incidents are ill laid and without invention; 
but the characters have a great deal of nature, 
which always pleases even in her lowest shapes. 
Parson Adams is perfectly well; so is Mrs. Slip- 
slop, and the story of Wilson ; and throughout he 
shows himself well read in stage-coaches, country 
squires, inns, and inns of court. His reflections 
upon high people and low people, and misses and 
masters, are very good. However the exaltedness 
of some minds (or rather as I shrewdly suspect 
their insipidity and want of feeling or observation) 
may make them insensible to these light things (I 
mean such as characterize and paint nature), yet 
surely they are as weighty and much more useful 
than your grave discourses upon the mind *, the 
passions, and what not. Now as the paradisaical 
pleasures t of the Mahometans consist in playing 

* He seems here to glance at Hutchinson, the 
disciple of Shaftsbury ; of whom he had not a much 
better opinion than of his master. 

t Whimsically put. — But what shall we say of 
the present taste of the French, when a writer 
whom Mr. Gray so justly esteemed as M. Mari- 
vaux is now held in such contempt, that Mari- 
■vauder is a fashionable phrase amongst them, and 
signifies neither more nor less than our own fashion- 
able phrase of prosing? As to Crebillon, 'twas his 



MR. GRAY. V25 

upon the flute and lying with Houris, be mine to 
read eternal new romances of Marivaux and Cre- 
billon. 

You are very good in giving yourself the trouble 
to read and find fault with my long harangues. 
• Your freedom (as you call it) has so little need of 
apologies, that I should scarce excuse your treating 
me any otherwise ; which, whatever compliment it 
might be to my vanity, would be making a very 
ill one to my understanding* As to matter of 
style, I have this to say : The language of the age * 
is never the language of poetry ; except among the 
French, whose verse, where the thought or image 
does not support it, differs in nothing from prose. 
Our poetry, on the contrary, has a language pecu- 
liar to itself; to which almost every one, that has 
written, has added something by enriching it with 
foreign idioms and derivatives : nay, sometimes 
words of their own composition or invention. 
Shakspeare and Milton have been great creators 
this way ; and no one more licentious than Pope 
or Dryden, who perpetually borrow expressions 
from the former. Let me give you some instances 
from Dryden, whom every body reckons a great 
master of our poetical tongue. Full of m useful 
mornings— unlike the trim of love — a pleasant 
beverage — a roundelay of love — stood silent in his 
mood — with knots and knares deformed — his ireful 
mood — in proud array — his boon was granted — 
and disarray and shameful rout — wayward but 
vfise—fiwbishcd for the field— the foiled dodderd 

* Egaremens du Cceur et de l'Esprit' that our author 
chiefly esteemed; he had not, I believe, at this 
time published his more licentious pieces. 

* Nothing can be more just than this observa- 
tion ; and nothing more likely to preserve our 
poetry from falling into insipidity, than pursuing 
the rules here laid down for supporting the diction 
of it : particularly with respect to the drama. 

L 2 



226 MEMOIRS OF 

oaks— disherited — smouldring flames — relckless of 
laws — crones old and ugly — the beldam at his side 
— the grandam-hag — villanize his father's fame. — 
But they are infinite : and our language not being 
a settled thing (like the French) has an undoubted 
right to words of a hundred years old, provided 
antiquity have not rendered them unintelligible. 
In truth, Shakspeare's language is one of his prin- 
cipal beauties ; and he has no less advantage over 
your Addisons and Rowes in this, than in those 
other great excellencies you mention. Every word 
in him is a picture. Pray put me the following 
lines into the tongue of our modern dramatics : 

But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks, 

Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass ; 

I, that am rudely stampt, and want love's majesty 

To strut before a wanton ambling nymph ; 

I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion, 

Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, 

Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time 

Into this breathing world, scarce half made up — 

And what follows. To me they appear untrans- 
latable ; and if this be the case, our language is 
greatly degenerated. However, the affectation of 
imitating Shakspeare may doubtless be carried too 
far; and it is no sort of excuse for sentiments ill- 
suited, or speeches ill-timed, which I believe is a 
little the case with me. I guess the most faulty 
expressions may be these — silken son of dalliance 
— drowsier pretensions — wrinkled beldams — arched 
the hearer's brow and riveted his eyes in fearful 
extasie. These are easily altered or omitted : and 
indeed if the thoughts be wrong or superfluous, 
there is nothing easier than to leave out the whole. 
The first ten or twelve lines are, I believe, the 
best * ; and as for the rest, I was betrayed into a 

* The lines which he means here are from — 
thus ever grave and undisturbed reflection — to 



MR. GRAY. 227 

good deal of it by Tacitus ; only what he has said 
in five words, I imagine I have said in fifty lines : 
such is the misfortune of imitating the inimitable. 
Now, if you are of my opinion, una litura may do 
the business, better than a dozen ; and you need 
not fear unravelling my web. I am a sort of 
spider ; and have little else to do but spin it over 
again, or creep to some other place and spin there. 
Alas ! for one who has nothing to do but amuse 
himself, I believe my amusements are as little 
amusing as most folks. But no matter ; it makes 
the hours pass; and is better than h d^iaOioLna) 
Qt-jUbHrlix Y.OLT<x.$i<jivcu. Adieu. 



LETTER V. 



MR. WEST TO MR. GRAY. 

TO begin with the conclusion of your letter, which 
is Greek, I desire that you will quarrel no more 
with your manner of passing your time. In my 
opinion it is irreproachable, especially as it pro- 
duces such excellent fruit ; and if I, like a saucy 
bird, must be pecking at it, you ought to consider 
that it is because I like it. No una litura, I beg 
you, no unravelling of your web, dear sir ! only 
pursue it a little further, and then one shall be 
able to judge of it a little better. You know the 
crisis of a play is in the first act ; its damnation or 
salvation wholly rests there. But till that first act 
is over, every body suspends his vote ; so how do 
you think I can form, as yet, any just idea of the 
speeches in regard to their length or shortness ? 

Rubellius lives. For the part of the scene, which 
he sent in his former letter, began there. 



228 MEMOIRS OF 

The connexion and symmetry of such little parts 
with one another must naturally escape me, as not 
having the plan of the whole in my head ; neither 
can I decide about the thoughts whether they are 
wrong or superfluous ; they may have some future 
tendency which I perceive not. The style only 
was free to me, and there I find we are pretty 
much of the same sentiment : for you say the af^ 
fectation of imitating Shakspeare may doubtless be 
carried too far ; I say as much and no more. For 
old words we know are old gold, provided they are 
well chosen. Whatever Ennius was, I do not con- 
sider Shakspeare as a dunghill in the least : on the 
contrary, he is a mine of ancient ore, where all 
our great modern poets have found their ad- 
vantage. I do not know how it is ; but his old ex- 
pressions * have more energy in them than ours, 
and are even more adapted to poetry; certainly, 
where they are judiciously and sparingly inserted, 
they add a certain grace to the composition ; in 
the same manner as Poussin gave a beauty to his 
pictures by his knowledge in the ancient propor- 
tions : but should he, or any other painter, carry 
the imitation too far, and neglect that best of 
models Nature, I am afraid it would prove a very 
flat performance. To finish this long criticism : I 
have this further notion about old words revived, 
(is not this a pretty way of finishing?) I think 
them of excellent use in tales ; they add a certain 

* Shakspeare's energy does not arise so much 
from these old expressions (most of which were 
not old in his time), but from his artificial ma- 
nagement of them. This artifice in the great poet 
is developed with much exactness by Dr. Hurd in 
his excellent note on this passage in Horace's Ep. 
ad Pisones. 

Dixeris egregie, notum si callida verbum 

Reddiderit junctura novum. 

See Hurd's Horace, vol. 1st, Edit. Uh t pL 49* 



MR. GRAY. 229 

drollery to the comic, and a romantic gravity to 
the serious, which are both charming in their 
kind; and this way of charming Dryden under- 
stood very well. You need only read Milton to 
acknowledge the dignity they give the epic. But 
now comes my opinion that they ought to be 
used in tragedy more sparingly, than in most kinds 
of poetry. Tragedy is designed for public repre- 
sentation, and what is designed for that should be 
certainly most intelligible. I believe half the au- 
dience that come to Shakspeare's plays do not un- 
derstand the half of what they hear. — But finissons 
enfin. — Yet one word more. — You think the ten 
or twelve first lines the best, now I am for the 
fourteen last * ; add, that they contain not one 
word of ancientry. 

I rejoice you found amusement in Joseph An- 
drews. But then I think your conceptions of Pa- 
radise a little upon the Bergerac. Les Lettres du 
Seraphim R. a Madame la Cherubinesse de Q, 
What a piece of extravagance would there be ! 

And now you must know that my body continues 
weak and enervate. And for my animal spirits 
they are in perpetual fluctuation : some whole days 
I have no relish, no attention for any thing; at 
other times I revive, and am capable of writing a 
long letter, as you see ; and though I do not write 
speeches, yet I translate them. When you under- 
stand what speech, you will own that it is a bold 
and perhaps a dull attempt. In three words, it is 
prose, it is from Tacitus, it is of Germanicus. 
Peruse, perpend, pronounce t. 

* He means the conclusion of the first scene. — 
But here and throughout his criticism on old words, 
he is not so consistent as his correspondent ; for he 
here insists that all ancientry should be struck out, 
and in a former passage he admits it may be used 
sparingly. 

t This speech I omit to print, as I have generally 



MEMOIRS OF 



LETTER VI. 

MR. GRAY TO MR. WEST. 

London, April, 1742. 
I SHOULD not have failed to answer your letter 
immediately, but I went out of town for a little 
while, which hindered me. Its length (besides the 
pleasure naturally accompanying a long letter from 
you) affords me a new one, when I think it is a 
symptom of the recovery of your health, and flatter 
myself that your bodily strength returns in pro- 
portion. Pray do not forget to mention the pro- 
gress you make continually. As to Agrippina, I 
begin to be of your opinion ; and find myself (as 
women are of their children) less enamoured of my 
productions the older they grow. * She is laid up 



avoided to publish mere translations either of Mr. 
Gray or his friend. 

* He never after awakened her; and I believe 
this was occasioned by the strictures which his 
friend had made on his dramatic style; which 
(though he did not think them well founded, as 
they certainly were not) had an effect which Mr. 
West, we may believe, did not intend them to 
have. I remember some years after I was also the 
innocent cause of his delaying to finish his fine ode 
on the progress of poetry. I told him, on reading 
the part he showed me, that ' though I admired it 
greatly, and thought that it breathed the very 
spirit of Pindar, yet I suspected it would by no 
means hit the public taste.' Finding afterwards 
that he did not proceed in finishing it, I often ex- 
postulated with him on the subject ; but he always 



MR. GRAY. 231 

to sleep till next summer; so bid her good night. 
I think you have translated Tacitus very justly, 
that is, freely ; and accommodated his thoughts to 
the turn and genius of our language ; which, though 
I commend your judgment, is no commendation of 
the English tongue, which is too diffuse, and daily 
grows more and more enervate. One shall never 
be more sensible of this, than in turning an author 
like Tacitus. I have been trying it in some parts 
of Thucydides (who has a little resemblance of 
him in his conciseness), and endeavoured to do it 
closely, but found it produced mere nonsense. If 
you have any inclination to see what figure Tacitus 
makes in Italian, I have a Tuscan translation of 
Davanzati, much esteemed in Italy ; and will send 
you the same speech you sent me ; that is, if you 
care for it. In the mean time accept of * Pro- 
pertius. * * * 



LETTER VII. 
MR. WEST TO MR. GRAY. 

Popes, May 5, 1742. 
WITHOUT any -preface I come to your verses, 
which I read over and over with excessive pleasure, 
and which are at least as good as Propertius. I am 
only sorry you follow the blunders of Broukhusius, 
all whose insertions are nonsense. I have some 

replied, * No, you have thrown cold water upon 
it.' I mention this little anecdote, to show how 
much the opinion of a friend, even when it did not 
convince his judgment, affected his inclination. 

* A translation of the 1st elegy of the 2d book 
in English rhyme ; omitted for the reason given in 
the last note but one. 



232 MEMOIRS OF 

objections to your antiquated words, and am also 
an enemy to Alexandrines ; at least I do not like 
them in elegy. But after all, I admire your trans- 
lation so extremely, that I cannot help repeating I 
long to show you some little errors you are fallen 
into by following Broukhusius *. * * * Were I 
with you now, and Propertius with your verses lay 
upon the table between us, I could discuss this 
point in a moment ; but there is nothing so tire- 
some as spinning out a criticism in a letter ; doubts 
arise, and explanations follow, till there swells out 
at least a volume of undigested observations ; and 
all because you are not with him whom you want 
to convince. Read only the letters between Pope 
and Cromwell in proof of this ; they dispute with- 
out end. Are you aware now that I have an in- 
terest all this while in banishing criticism from our 
correspondence? Indeed I have; for I am going 
to write down a little ode (if it deserves the name) 
for your perusal, which I am afraid will hardly stand 
that test. Nevertheless I leave you at your full 
liberty ; so here it follows. 

ODE. 

Dear Gray, that always in my heart 
Possessest far the better part, 
What mean these sudden blasts that rise 
And drive the Zephyrs from the skies ? 
O join with mine thy tuneful lay, 
And invocate the tardy May. 

Come, fairest nymph, resume thy reign ! 
Bring all the Graces in thy train ! 
With balmy breath, and flowery tread, 
Rise from thy soft ambrosial bed ; 



* I have omitted here a paragraph or two, in 
which different lines of the Elegy were quoted, be- 
cause I had previously omitted the translation of it. 



MR. GRAY. 233 

Where, in elysian slumber bound, 
Embow'ring myrtles veil thee round. 

Awake, in all thy glories drest, 
Recall the Zephyrs from the west ; 
Restore the sun, revive the skies, 
At mine, and Nature's call, arise ! 
Great Nature's self upbraids thy stay, 
And misses her accustom'd May. 

See ! all her works demand thy aid j 
The labours of Pomona fade : 
A plaint is heard from ev'ry tree ; 
Each budding flow'ret calls for thee ; 
The birds forget to love and sing ; 
With storms alone the forests ring. 

Come then, with Pleasure at thy side, 
Diffuse thy vernal spirit wide; 
Create, where'er thou turn'st thy eye, 
Peace, plenty, love, and harmony ; 
Till ev'ry being share its part, 
And heav'n and earth be glad at heart. 



LETTER VIII. 



MR. GRAY TO MR. WEST. 

London, May 8, 3742. 
I REJOICE to see you putting up your prayers to 
the May : she cannot choose but come at such a 
call. It is as light and genteel as herself. You 
bid me find fault ; I am afraid I cannot ; however 
I will try. The first stanza (if what you say to me 
in it did not make me think it the best) I should 
call the worst of the five (except the fourth line). 



23 i MEMOIRS OF 

The two next are very picturesque, Miltonic, and 
musical ; her bed is so soft and so snug that I long 
to lie with her. But those two lines, * Great 
Nature' are my favourites. The exclamation of 
the flowers is a little step too far. The last stanza 
is full as good as the second and third ; the last 
line bold, but I think not too bold. Now, as to 
myself and my translation, pray do not call names. 
1 never saw Broukhusius in my life. It is Scaliger 
who attempted to range Propertius in order ; who 
ivas, and still is, in sad condition t * * *. Vou 
see, by what I sent you, that I converse, as usual, 
with none but the dead : they are my old friends, 
and almost make me long to be with them. You 
will not wonder therefore, that I, who live only in 
times past, am able to tell you no news of the pre- 
sent. I have finished the Pelopormesian war much 
to my honour, and a tight conflict it was, I pro- 
mise you. I have drank and sung with Anacreon 
for the last fortnight, and am now feeding sheep 
with Theocritus. Besides, to quit my figure (be- 
cause it is foolish), I have run over Pliny's Epistles 
and Martial ex 7rotpspys ; not to mention Petrarch, 
who, by the way, is sometimes very tender and 
natural. I must needs tell you three lines in Ana- 
creon, where the expression seems to me inimitable. 
He is describing hair as he would have it painted. 

EXixag § shevSifyg fxot 
TlKoxocacov aroLXTOL cvv$e)g 
'Atyeg cog $sXyai xslSat. 

Guess, too, where this is about a dimple. 

Sigilla in mento impressa Amoris digitulo 
Vestigio demonstrant mollitudinem. 

t Here some criticism on the Elegy is omitted 
for a former reason. 



MR. GRAY. 235 



LETTER IX. 



MR. WEST TO MR. GRAY. 

Popes, May 11, 1712. 
YOUR fragment is in Aulus Gellius ; and both it 
and your Greek delicious. But why are you thus 
melancholy ? I am so sorry for it, that you see I 
cannot forbear writing again the very first oppor- 
tunity; though I have little to say, except to ex- 
postulate with you about it. I find you converse 
much with the dead, and I do not blame you for 
that ; I converse with them too, though not indeed 
with the Greek. But I must condemn you for 
your longing to be with them. What, are there 
no joys among the living ? I could almost cry out 
with Catullus, ' Alpliene immemor, atque unanimis 
false sodalibus !' But to turn an accusation thus 
upon another, is ungenerous ; so I will take my 
leave of you for the present with a ( Vale, et vive 
paulisper cum vivis.' 



LETTER X. 



MR. GRAY TO MR. WEST. 

London, May 27, 1742. 
MINE, you are to know, is a white melancholy, 
or rather leucocholy for the most part; which, 
though it seldom laughs or dances, nor ever amounts 
to what one calls joy or pleasure, yet is a good 
easy sort of a state, and ca ne laisse que de 



236 MEMOIRS OF 

s'amuser. The only fault of it is insipidity; 
which is apt now and then to giye a sort of ennui, 
which makes one form certain little wishes that 
signify nothing. But there is another sort, black 
indeed, which I have now and then felt, that has 
somewhat in it like Tertullian's rule of faith, 
Credo quia impossibile est ; for it believes, nay, is 
sure of every thing that is unlikely, so it be but 
frightful: and, on the other hand, excludes and 
shuts its eyes to the most possible hopes, and 
every thing that is pleasurable; from this the 
Lord deliver us! for none but he and sunshiny 
weather can do it. In hopes of enjoying this kind 
of weather, I am going into the country for a few 
weeks, but shall be never the nearer any society ; 
so, if you have any charity, you will continue to 
write. My life is like Harry the Fourth's supper 
of hens. * Poulets a la broche, poulets en ragout, 
poulets en hachis, poulets en fricasees.' Reading 
here, reading there; nothing but books with dif- 
ferent sauces. Do not let me lose my desert then ; 
for though that be reading too, yet it has a very 
different flavour. The May seems to be come 
since your invitation ; and I propose to bask in 
her beams and dress me in her roses. 

Et Caput in verna semper habere rosa. 

I shall see Mr. * * and his wife, nay, and his 
child too, for he has got a boy. Is it not odd to 
consider one's cotemporaries in the grave light of 
husband and father ? There are my Lords * * and 
* * *, they are statesmen : do not you remember 
them dirty boys playing at cricket? As for me, I 
am never a bit the older, nor the bigger, nor the 
wiser than I was then : no, not for having been 
beyond sea. Pray how are you ? 

I send you an inscription for a wood joining to 
a park of mine ; (it is on the confines of Mount 
Cithaeron, on the left hand as you go to Thebes) 



MR. GRAY. 237 

you know I am no friend to hunters, and hate to 
be disturbed by their noise. 

*A%6juevog 7roXvSrjpov IxyjjSoAoti ahcrog avdccag 
joig Seivag tsjusvyj \s77Tb, xuvayg, $sug 

Mouvoi ap 'ivQa. xvvoov %a$£(x)v xKotyyevcnv v\ay[Xo\ 
MTCty/igW\)[JL$(x.v ayporepav xskdBq)*, 

Here follows also the beginning of an Heroic 
Epistle; but you must give me leave to tell my 
own story first, because historians differ. Massi- 
nissa was the son of Gala, king of the Massyli; 
and, when very young at the head of his father's 
army, gave a most signal overthrow to Syphax, 
king of the Masaesylians, then an ally of the 
Romans. Soon after Asdrubal, son of Gisgo the 
Carthaginian general, gave the beautiful Sopho- 
nisba, his daughter, in marriage to the young 
prince. But this marriage was not consummated 
on account of Massinissa's being obliged to hasten 
into Spain, there to command his father's troops, 
who were auxiliaries of the Carthaginians. Their 
affairs at this time began to be in a bad condition ; 
and they thought it might be greatly for their 
interest, if they could bring over Syphax to them- 
selves. This in time they actually effected; and, 
to strengthen their new alliance, commanded As- 
drubal to give his daughter to Syphax. (It is pro- 
bable their ingratitude to Massinissa arose from the 
great change of affairs, which had happened among 
the Massylians during his absence ; for his father 
and uncle were dead, and a distant relation of the 
royal family had usurped the throne,) Sophonisba 
was accordingly married to Syphax; and Mas- 

* In the 12th Letter of the first Section, Mr. 
Gray says of his friend's translation of un Epigram 
of Posidippus, * Graecam illam oKpshefav minnce* 
sapit.' The learned reader, I imagine, will readily 
give this tetrastic the same character. 



238 MEMOIRS OF 

sinissa, enraged at the affront, became a friend to 
the Romans. They drove the Carthaginians before 
them out of Spain, and carried the war into Africa, 
defeated Syphax, and took him prisoner; upon 
which Cirtha (his capital) opened her gates to Laelius 
and Massinissa. The rest of the affair, the mar- 
riage, and the sending of poison, every body knows. 
This is partly taken from Livy, and partly from 
Appian. 



SOPHONISBA MASSINISSA. 



EPISTOLA. 

Egregium accipio promissi Munus amoris, 

Inque manu mortem, jam fruitura, fero : 
Atque utinam citius mandasses, luce vel una; 

Transieram Stygios non inhonesta lacus. 
Victoris nee passa toros, nova nupta, mariti, 

Nee fueram fastus, Roma superba, tuos. 
Scilicet hasc partem tibi, Massinissa, triumphi 

Detractam, haec pompae jura minora suae 
Imputat> atque uxor quod non tua pressa catenis, 

Objecta et saevae plausibus urbis eo : 
Quin tu pro tantis cepisti prsemia factis, 

Magnum Romanae pignus amicitiae ! 
Scipiadae excuses, oro, si tardius utar 

Munere. Non nimihm vivere, crede, velim. 
Parva mora est, breve sed tempus mea fama re- 
quirit ; 

Detinet haec animam cura suprema meam. 
Quae patriae prodesse meae Regina ferebar, 

Inter Elisaeas gloria prima nurus, 
Ne videar flammae nimis indulsisse secundae, 

Vel nimis hostiles extimuisse manus. 
Fortunam atque annos liceat revocare priores, 

Gaudiaque heu ! quantis nostra repensa malis. 



MR. GRAY. 239 

Primitiasne tuas meministi atque arma Syphacis 

Fusa, et per Tyrias ducta trophaea vias ? 
(Laudis at antiqua? forsan meminisse pigebit, 

Quodque decus quondam causa ruboris erit.) 
Terapus ego certe memini, felicia Paenis 

Quo te non puduit solvere vota deis; 
Maeniaque intrantem vidi : longo agmine duxit 

Turba salutantum, purpureique patres. 
Faeminea ante omnes longe admiratur euntem 

Hasret et aspectu tota caterva tuo. 
Jam flexi, regale decus, per colla capilli, 

Jam decet ardenti fuscus in ore color ! 
Commendat frontis generosa modestia formam, 

Seque cupit laudi surripuisse suse. 
Prima genas tenui signat vix flore juventas, 

Et dextras soli credimus esse virum. 
Dum faciles gradiens oculos per singula jactas, 

(Seu rexit casus lumina, sive Venus) 
In me (vel certe visum est) conversa morari 

Sensi ; virgineus perculit ora pudor. 
Nescio quid vultum molle spirare tuendo, 

Credideramque tuos lentius ire pedes. 
Quaerebam, juxta aequalis si dignior esset, 

Quae poterat visus detinuisse tuos: 
Nulla fuit circum aequalis quae dignior esset, 

Asseruitque decus conscia forma suura. 
Pompae finis erat *. Tota vix nocte quievi : 

Sin premat invitae lumina victa sopor, 

* There is so much of nature in the sentiment, 
as well as poetry in the description of this triumphal 
entry of young Massinissa, that it seems much to 
be regretted the author did not finish this poem. 
But I believe he never proceeded further with it. 
I had therefore my doubts concerning the printing 
of so small a part; but as I thought it the best, be- 
cause the only original specimen of Mr. Gray's 
Ovidian verse (the rest of his hexameters and penta- 
meters being only translations either from English 
or Italian) I was willing to give it to the reader. 



240 MEMOIRS OF 

Somnus habet pompas, eademque recursat imago ; 
Atque iterum hesterno munere victor ades. 



Immediately after writing the preceding letter, 
Mr. Gray went upon a visit to his relations at Stoke ; 
where he writ that beautiful little ode which stands 
first in his collection of poems. He sent it as soon 
as written to his beloved friend ; but he was * dead 
before it reached Hertfordshire. He diedt only 
twenty days after he had written the letter to Mr. 
Gray, which concluded with ' Vale, et vive pau- 
lisper cum vivis.' So little was the amiable youth 
then aware of the short time that he himself would 
be numbered amongst the living. But this is 
almost constantly the case with such persons as die 
of that most remediless, yet most flattering of all 
distempers, a consumption. Shall humanity be 
thankful or sorry that it is so ? Thankful, surely : 
for as this malady generally attacks the young and 
the innocent, it seems the merciful intention of 
Heaven that, to these, death should come unper- 
ceived, and as it were by stealth ; divested of one 
of his sharpest stings, the lingering expectation of 
their dissolution. As to Mr. Gray, we may assure 



* This singular anecdote is founded on a mar- 
ginal note in his common-place book, where that 
ode is transcribed, and the following memorandum 
annexed : * Written at Stoke the beginning of June 
1712, and sent to Mr. West, not knowing he was 
then dead.' 

t He was buried at Hatfield (the house called 
Popes being in that parish). On a grave-stone in 
the chancel is the following plain inscription : * Here 
lieth the body of Richard West, Esq. only son to 
the Right Honourable Richard West, Esq. late 
Lord Chancellor of Ireland, who died the 1st of 
June, 1742, in the 26th year of his age.' 



MR. GRAY. 241 

ourselves that he felt much more than his dying 
friend, when the letter, which inclosed the ode, 
was returned unopened. There seems to be a kind 
of presentiment in that pathetic piece, which 
readers of taste will feel when they learn this anec- 
dote ; and which will make them read it with re- 
doubled pleasure. It will also throw a melancholy 
grace (to borrow one of his own expressions) on the 
ode on a distant prospect of Eton, and on that to 
Adversity; both of them written the August fol- 
lowing : for as both these poems abound with 
pathos, those who have feeling hearts will feel this 
excellence the more strongly, when they know the 
cause from whence it arose; and the unfeeling 
will, perhaps, learn to respect what they cannot 
taste, when they are prevented from imputing to a 
splenetic melancholy, what in fact sprung from the 
most benevolent of all sensations. I am inclined 
to believe that the Elegy in a Country Church- 
yard was begun, if not concluded, at this time 
also : though I am aware that, as it stands at pre- 
sent, the conclusion is of a later date ; how that 
was originally, I have shown in my notes on the 
poem. But the first impulse of his sorrow for the 
death of his friend gave birth to a very tender 
sonnet in English, on the Petrarchian model ; and 
also to a sublime apostrophe in hexameters, written 
in the genuine strain of classical majesty, with 
which he intended to begin one of his books, * De 
Principiis Cogitandi.' This I shall shortly give 
the reader ; but the sonnet, being completed, is in- 
serted amongst the rest of his poems. 

It may seem somewhat extraordinary, that Mr. 
Gray never attempted any thing in English verse 
(except the beginning of Agrippina, and a few 
translations), before the first ode lately mentioned. 
Shall we attribute this to his having been educated 
at Eton, or to what other cause ? Certain it is, 
that when I first knew him, he seemed to set a 
greater value on his Latin poetry, than on that 

M 



24<2 MEMOIRS OF 

which he had composed in his native language? 
and had almost the same foible then, which I have 
since known him laugh at in Petrarch, when we 
read that most entertaining of all books, entitled 
* Memoires pour la vie de Francois Petrarque tires 
de ses ceuvres,' &c. I am apt to think that the 
little popularity which M. de Polignac's Anti- 
Lucretius acquired, after it had been so long and 
so eagerly expected by the learned, induced Mr. 
Gray to lay aside his didactic plan. However this 
may be, he writ no Latin verse after this period ; 
except perhaps some part of the 1st book of the 
poem just mentioned. This therefore seems the 
proper place to introduce that fragment ; which 
being the most considerable in i,tself of all his 
Latin compositions, and perhaps the most laboured 
of any of his poems, it were to be wished that I 
could give the reader more insight into his design, 
than the few scattered papers, which he has left, 
enable me to do. It is clear, however, from the 
exordium itself, that he meant to make the same 
use of Mr. Locke's Essay on the Human Under- 
standing, which Lucretius did of the dogmas of 
Epicurus. And the first six lines plainly intimate, 
that his general design was to be comprised in four 
books. 

The 1st. On the Origin of our Ideas. 

Unde Animus scire incipiat 

The 2d. On the Distribution of these Ideas in 
the Memory. 

quibus inchoet orsa 

Principiis seriem rerum, tenuemque catenam 

Mnemosyne — — 

The 3d. On the Province of Reason, and its 
gradual Improvement. 

Ratio unde, rudi sub peetore, tardum 

Augeat imperium 



MR. GRAY. 243 

The 4th. On the Cause and Effects of the 
Passions. 

et primum mortalibus aegris 

Ira, Dolor, Metus, et Curee nascantur inanes. 

But he has not drawn out any of the arguments 
of these books, except a part of the first ; and that 
only so far as he executed of it. This it will be proper 
here to insert ; and also, for the ease of the reader, 
to repeat the several parts at the bottom of the 
subsequent pages. 

General plan of the poem. — First, Invocation to 
Mr. Locke. Address to Favonius, showing the use 
and importance of the design. — Beginning. — Con- 
nexion of the soul and body : nerves, the in- 
struments of sensation. — Touch, the first and most 
extensive sense, described. — Begins before the birth ; 
pain, our first idea when born. — Seeing, the second 
sense. — Digressive encomium of light. The gra- 
dual opening and improvement of this sense, and 
that of hearing ; their connexion with the higher 
faculties of the mind : sense of beauty and order 
and harmony annexed to them. From the latter, 
our delight in eloquence, poetry, and music de- 
rived. — Office of the taste and smell. — Internal 
sense of reflection, whereby the mind views its 
own powers and operations, compared to a young 
wood-nymph admiring herself in some fountain. — 
Admission of ideas, some by a single sense, some by 
two, others by every way of sensation and reflection. 
Instance in a person born blind, he has no ideas of 
light and colours ; but he has those of figure, 
motion, extension, and space, (objects both of the 
sight and touch). Third sort, those which make 
their entrance into the mind by every channel 
alike; as pleasure and pain, power, existence, 
unity, and succession. Properties of bodies, whereby 
they make themselves known to us. Primary qua- 
lities : magnitude, solidity, mobility, texture, and 
figure. * * * 



244 MEMOIRS OF 



BE PRINCIPIIS COGITANDI. 



LIBER PRIMUS. 



AD FAVONIUM. 

* UNDE Animus scire incipiat : quibus inehoet orsa 
Principiis seriem rerum, tenuemque catenam 
Mnemosyne; Ratio unde rudi sub pectore tardum 
Augeat imperium ; et primum mortalibus aegris 
Ira, Dolor, Metus, et Curse nascantur inanes, 
Hinc canere aggredior. f Nee dedignare canentem, 
O decus ! Angliacse certe O lux altera gentis ! 
Si qua primus iter monstras, vestigia conor 
Signare incerta, tremulaque insistere plantaj. 
Quin potius due ipse (potes namque omnia) sanctum 
Ad limen, (si rite adeo, si pectore puro,) 

* Plan of the poem. 

+ Invocation to Mr. Locke. 

t It has been already observed in the note on 
Let. 17, Sect. I. p. 125, that Mr. Gray's hexa- 
meters, besides having the variety of Virgil's 
pauses, closed also with his elisions. For Virgil, 
as an attentive reader will immediately perceive, 
generally introduces one elision, and not unfre- 
quently more, into those lines which terminate the 
sense. This gives to his versification its last and 
most exquisite grace, and leaves the ear fully 
satisfied. Mr. Gray could not fail to observe, and 
of course to aim at this happy effect of elisions in 
a concluding line ; of which the present poem, in 
particular, affords indubitable and abundant proofs. 



MR. GRAV. 245 

Obscurge reserans Naturae ingentia claustra. 
Tu csecas rerum causas, fonteraque feverum 
Pande, Pater ; tibi enim, tibi, veri magne Sacerdos, 
Corda patent hominum, atque altae penetralia 
Mentis. 

Tuque aures adhibe vacuas, facilesque, Favont, 
(Quod tibi crescit opus) * simplex nee despice 

carmen, 
Nee vatem : non ilia leves primordia motus, 
Quanquam parva, dabunt. Laetum vel amabile 

quicquid 
Usquam oritur, trab.it hinc ortum ; nee surgit ad 

auras, 
Quin ea conspirent simul, eventusque secundent. 
Hine varise vita'i artes, ac mollior usus, 
Dulce et amicitiae vinclum : Sapientia dia 
Hinc rcseum accendit lumen, vultuque sereno 
Humanas aperit mentes, nova gaudia monstrans, 
Deformesque fugat curas, vanosque timores : 
Scilicet et rerum crescit pulcherrima Virtus. 
Ilia etiam, quae te (miriim) noctesque diesque 
Assidu£ fovet inspirans, linguamqiie sequentem 
Temperat in numeros, atque horas mulcet inertes ; 
Aurea non alia se jactat origine Musa. 

t Principio, ut magnum fcedus Natura creatrix 
Firmavit, tardis jussitque inolescere membris 
Sublimes animas ; tenebroso in carcere partem 
Noluit astheream longo torpere veterno : 
Nee per se proprium passa exercere vigorem est, 
Ne sociae molis conjunctos sperneret artus, 
Ponderis oblita, et ccelestis conscia flammse. 
Idcirco % innumero ductu tremere undique fibras 
Nervoium instituit : turn toto corpore miscens 
Implicuit latd ramos, et sensile textum, 
Implevitque humore suo (seu lympba vocanda, 
Sive aura est) tenuis cert£, atque levissima quasdam 

* Use and extent of tbe subject, 
t Union of tbe soul and body. 
% Office of the nervous system. 



246 MEMOIRS OF 

Vis versatur agens, parvosque infusa canales 
Perfluit ; assidue externis quae concita plagis, 
Mobilis, incussique fidelis nuntia motus, 
Hinc inde accensa contage relabitur usque 
Ad superas hominis sedes, arcemque cerebri. 
Namque illic posuit solium, et sua templa sacravit 
* Mens animi : hanc circum coeunt, densoque fe- 

runtur 
Agmine notitiae, simulacraque tenuia rerum : 
Ecce autem natures ingens aperitur imago 
Immensse, variique patent commercia mundi. 

Ac uti longinquis descendunt montibus amnes 
Velivolus Tamisis, flaventisque Indus arena?, 
Euphratesque, Tagusque, etopimo flumine Ganges, 
Undas quisque suas volvens, cursuque sonoro 
In mare prorumpunt : hos magno acclinis in antro 
Excipit Oceanus, natorumque ordine longo 
Dona recognoscit venientum, ultroque serenat 
Caeruleam faciem, et diffuso marmore ridet. 
Haud aliter species properant se inferre novelise 
Certatim menti, atque aditus quino agmine com- 

plent. 
t Primas Tactus agit partes, primusque minutse 
Laxat iter caecum turbas, recipitque ruentem. 
Non idem huic modus est, qui fratribus : amplius 

ille 
Imperium affectat senior, penitusque medullis, 
Visceribusque habitat totis, pellisque recentem 
Funditur in telam, et late per stamina vivit. 
Necdum etiam matris puer eluctatus ab alvo 
Multiplices solvit tunicas, et vincula rupit; 
Sopitus molli somno, tepidoque liquore 
Circumf usus adhuc : tactus tamen aura lacessit 
Jamdudum levior sensus, animamque reclusit. 
Idque magis simul, ac solitum blandumque calorem 
Frigore mutavit cceli, quod verberat acri 
Impete inassuetos artus: turn saevior adstat, 

* Sensation, the origin of our ideas. 

t The touch, our first and most extensive sense. 



MR. GRAY. 247 

Humanaeque comes vita? Dolor excipit ; ille 
Cunctantem frustra et tremulo multa ore querentem 
Corripit invadens, ferreisque amplectitur ulnis. 
* Turn species primum patefacta est Candida Lucis 
(Usque vices adeo Natura bonique, malique, 
Exaequat, justaque manu sua damna rependit) 
Turn primhm, ignotosque bibunt nova lumina soles. 

f Carmine quo, Dea, te dicam, gratissimi coeli 
Progenies, ortumque tuum ; gemmantia rore 
Ut per prata levi lustras, et floribus halans 
Purpureum Veris gremium, scenamque virentem 
Pingis, et umbriferos colles, et cserula regna ? 
Gratia te, Venerisque Lepos, et mille Colorum, 
Formarumque chorus sequitur, Motusque decentes. 
At caput in visum Stygiis Nox atra tenebris 
Abdidit, horrendaeque simul Formidinis ora, 
Pervigilesque aestus Curarum, atqueanxius Angor: 
Undique Laetitia florent mortalia corda, 
Purus et arridet largis fulgoribus iEther. 

Omnia nee tu ideo invalidae se pandere Menti 
{Quippe nimis teneros posset vis tanta diei 
Perturbare, et inexpertos confundere visus) 
Nee capere infantes amnios* neu eernere credas 
Tam variam molem, et mirae spectacula lucis: 
± Nescio qua tamen haee oeulos dulcedine parvos 
Splendida percussit novitas, traxitque sequentes; 
Nonne videmus enim, latis inserta fenestris 
Sicubi se Pheebi dispergant aurea tela, 
Sive lucernarum rutilus colluxerit ardor, 
Extemplo hue obVerti aciem, quae fixa repertos 
Haurit inexpletum radios, fruiturque tuendo. 

Altior huie vero sensu, majorque videtur 
Addita, Judicioque arete coimexa potestas, 
Quod simul atque astas volventibus auxerit annis, 
§ Haec simul, assiduo depascens omnia visu, 

* Sight, our second sense. 

t Digression on light. 

J Sight, imperfect at first, gradually improves. 

§ Ideas of beauty, proportion, and order. 



248 MEMOIRS OF 

Perspiciet, vis quanta loci, quid polleat ordo, 
Junctures quis honos, ut res accendere rebus 
Lumina conjurant inter se, et mutua fulgent. 

Nee minor * in geminis viget auribus insita virtus, 
Nee tantum in curvis quae pervigil excubet antris 
Hinc atque hinc (ubi Vox tremefecerit ostia pulsu 
Aeriis invecta rotis) longeque recurset : 
Scilicet eloquio haec sonitus, hsec fulminis alas, 
Et mulcere dedit dictis et tollere corda, 
Verbaque metiri numeris, versuque ligare 
Repperit, et quicquid discant Libethrides undae, 
Calliope quotas, quoties Pater ipse canendi 
Evolvat liquidum carmen, calamove loquenti 
Inspiret dulces animas, digitisque figuret. 

+ At raedias fauces, et lingua? humentia templa 
Gustus habet, qua se insinuet jucunda saporum 
Luxuries, dona Autumni, Bacchique voluptasb 

£ Naribus interea consedit odora hominum vis> 
Docta leves captare auras, Panchaia quales 
Vere novo exhalat, Floragve quod oscula fragrant 
Roscida, cum Zephyri furtim sub vesperis hora 
Respondet votis, mollemque aspirat amorem. 

§ Tot portas altae capitis circumdedit arci 
Alma Parens, sensusque vias per membra reclusit ; 
Haud solas : namque intus agit vivata facultas, 
Qua sese explorat, contemplatusque repent^ 
Ipse suas animus vires, momentaque cernit. 
Quid velit, aut possit, cupiat, fugiatve vicissim 
Percipit imperio gaudens; neque corpora fallunt 
Morigera ad celeres actus, ac numina mentis. 

Qualis Hamadryadum quondam si forte sororum 
Una, novos peragrans saltus, et devia rura ; 
(Atque illam in viridi suadet procumbere ripa. 
Fontis pura quics, et opaci frigoris umbra) 
Dum prona in latices speculi de margine pendet, 
Mirata est subitam venienti occurrere Nympham : 

* Hearing, also improvable by the judgment. 

t Taste. $ Smell. 

§ Reflection, the other source of our ideas. 



MR. GRAY. 249 

Mox eosdem, quos ipsa, artus, eadem ora gerentem 
Una inferre gradus, una succedere sylvae 
Aspicit alludens ; seseque agnoscit in undis. 
Sic sensu interno rerum simulacra suarum 
Mens eiet, et proprios observat conscia vultus. 
* Nee vero simplex ratio, aut jus omnibus unum 
Constat imaginibus. Sunt quae bina ostia norunt ; 
Has privos servant aditus ; sine legibus illas 
Passim, qua data porta, ruunt, animoque pro- 

pinquant. 
t Respice, cui a cunis tristes extinxit ocellos, 
Saeva et in aeternas mersit natura tenebras : 
Illi ignota dies lucet, vernusque colorum 
Offusus nitor est, et vivae gratia formae. 
$ Corporis at filum, et motus, spatiumque, locique 
Intervalla datur certo dignoscere tactu : 
Quandoquidem his iter ambiguum est, et janua du- 
plex, 
Exclusaeque oculis species irrumpere tendunt 
Per digitos. Atqui solis concessa potestas 
Luminibus blandas est radios immittere lucis. 

§ Undique proporr6 sociis, quacunque patescit 
Notitiae campus, mistae lasciva feruntur 
Turba voluptatis comites, formasque dolorum 
Terribiles visu, et porta, glomerantur in omni. 

|| Nee vario minus introitu magnum ingruit illud. 
Quo facere et fungi, quo res existere eircftm 
Quamque sibi proprio cum corpore scimus, et ire 
Ordine, perpetuoque per aevum flumine labi. 

Nunc age quo valeat pacto, qua sensilis arte 
% Aifectare viam, atque animi tentare latebras 

* Ideas approach the soul, some by single avenues, 
some by two, others by every sense. 

t Illustration. — Light, an example of the first. 

£ Figure, motion, extension, of the second. 

§ Pleasure, pain, of the third. 

|| Also power, existence, unity, succession, dura- 
tion. 

^f Primary qualities of bodies. 

M2 



250 MEMOIRS OF 

Materies (dictis aures adverte faventes) 
Exsequar. Imprimis spatii quam multa per aequor 
Millia multigenis pandant se corpora seclis, 
Expende. Haud unum invenies, quod mente licebit 
Amplecti, nedum proprifts deprendere sensu, 
* Molis egens certes, aut solido sine robore, cujus 
Denique mobilitas linquit, texturave-partes, 
Ulla nee orarum circumcaesura coercet. 
Haec eonjuncta adeo tota compage fatetur 
Mundus, et extremo clamant in limine rerum, 
(Si rebus datur extremum) primordia. Firmat 
Haec eadem tactus (tactum quis dicere falsum 
Audeat ?•) heec oculi nee lucidus arguit orbis. 

Inde potestatum enasci densissima proles; 
Nam quodcunque ferit visum, tangive laborat, 
Quicquid nare bibis, vel concava concipit auris, 
Quicquid lingua sapit, credas hoc omne, necesse est 
Ponderibus, textu, discursu, mole, figura 
Particulas prsestare leves, et semina rerum. 
Nunc oculos igitur pascunt, et luce ministra 
Fulgere cuncta vides, spargique coloribus orbem, 
Dum de sole trahunt alias, aliasque superne 
Detorquent, retr6que docent se vertere rlammas. 
Nunc trepido inter se fervent corpuscula pulsu, 
Ut tremor sethera per magnum, lateque natantes 
Aurarum fluctus avidi vibrantia claustra 
Audittis queat allabi, sonitumque propaget. 
Comings interdum non ullo interprete per se 
Nervorum invadunt teneras quatientia fibras, 
Sensiferumque urgent ultrb per viscera motum. 



* Magnitude, solidity, mobility, texture, figure. 






MR. GRAY. 251 

BE PRINCIPIIS COGITANDL 

LIBER QUARTUS. 

HACTENUS haud segnis Naturae arcana retexi 
Musarum interpres, primusque Britanna per arva 
Romano liquidum deduxi flumine rivura. 
Cum Tu opere in medio, spes tanti et causa laboris, 
Linquis, et asternam fati te condis in umbram ! 
Vidi egomet duro graviter concussa dolore 
Pectora, in alterius non unquam lenta dolorem; 
Et languere oculos vidi, et pallescere amantem 
Vultum, quo nunquam Pietas nisi rara, Fidesque, 
Altus amor Veri, et purum spirabat Honestum. 
Visa tamen tardi deraum inclementia morbi 
Cessare est, reducemque iterum roseo ore Salutem 
Speravi, atque una tecum, dilecte Favoni ! 
Credulus heu longos, ut quondam, fallere Soles. 
Heu spes nequicquam dulces, atque irrita vota ! 
Heu moestos Soles, sine te quos ducere flendo 
Per desideria, et questus jam cogor inanes ! 

At Tu, sanctaanima, etnostri non indiga luctus, 
Stellanti templo, sincerique setheris igne, 
Unde orta es, fruere; atque o si secura, nee ultra 
Mortalis, notos olim miserata labores 
Respectes, tenuesque vacet cognoscere curas ; 
Humanam si forte alta de sede procellam 
Contemplere, metus, stimulosque cupidinis acres, 
Gaudiaque et gemitus, parvoque in corde tumultum 
Irarum ingentem, et saevos sub pectore fluctus ; 
Respice et has laerymas, memori quas ictus amore 
Fundo; quod possum, juxta lugere sepulchrum 
Dum juvat, et mutae vana hasc jactare favillae. 
* * * # 

END OF THE THIRD SECTION. 



252 



SECTION IV. 

THE three foregoing Sections have carried the 
reader through the juvenile part of Mr. Gray's life, 
and nearly, alas ! to half of its duration. Those 
which remain, though less diversified by incidents, 
will, notwithstanding, I flatter myself, be equally 
instructive and amusing, as several of his most in- 
timate friends have very kindly furnished me with 
their collections of his letters; which, added to 
those I have myself preserved, will enable me to 
select from them many excellent specimens of his 
more mature judgment, correct taste, and extensive 
learning, blended at the same time with many 
amiable instances of his sensibility : they will also 
specify the few remaining anecdotes, which oc- 
curred in a life so retired and sedentary as his : 
for the reader must be here informed that, from 
the winter of the year 1742 to the day of his death, 
his principal residence was at Cambridge. He in- 
deed, during the lives of his mother and aunts, 
spent his summer vacations at Stoke; and, after 
they died, in making little tours on visits to his 
friends in different parts of the country : but he 
was seldom absent from college any considerable 
time, except between the years 1759 and J762; 
when, on the opening of the British Museum, he 
took lodgings in Southampton-row, in order to have 
recourse to the Harleian and other manuscripts 
there deposited, from which he made several 
curious extracts*. 

* These, amounting in all to a tolerably-sized 
folio, are at present in Mr. Walpole's hands. He 



MEMOIRS OF MR. GRAY. 2b3 

It may seem strange that a person who had con- 
ceived so early a dislike to Cambridge, and who (as 
we shall see presently) now returned to it with this 
prejudice rather augmented, should, when he was 
free to choose, make that very place his principal 
abode for near thirty years : but this I think may 
be easily accounted for from his love of books, 
(ever his ruling passion) and the straitness of his 
circumstances, which prevented the gratification of 
it. For to a man, who could not conveniently 
purchase even a small library, what situation so 
eligible as that which affords free access to a 
number of large ones ? This reason also accounts for 
another singular fact. We have seen that, during 
his residence at Stoke, in the spring and summer of 
this same year 1742, he writ a considerable part of 
his more finished poems. Hence one would be na- 
turally led to conclude, that, on his return to Cam- 
bridge, when the ceremony of taking his degree 
was over, the quiet of the place would have 
prompted him to continue the cultivation of his 
poetical talents, and that immediately, as the Muse 
seems in this year to have peculiarly inspired him ; 
but this was not the case, Reading, he has often 
told me, was much more agreeable to him than 
writing: he therefore now laid aside composition 
almost entirely, and applied himself with intense 
assiduity to the study of the best Greek authors ; 
insomuch that, in the space of about six years, 
there were hardly any writers of note in that lan- 
guage which he had- not only read but digested ; 
remarking, by the mode of common-place, their 
contents, their difficult and corrupt passages, and 



has already printed the speech of Sir Thomas 
Wyat from them in the second number of his Mis- 
cellaneous Antiquities. The public must impute it 
to their own want of curiosity if more of them do 
not appear in print. 



254 MEMOIRS OF 

all this with the accuracy of a critic added to the 
diligence of a student. 

Before I insert the next series of letters, I must 
take the liberty to mention, that it was not till 
about the year 17*17 that I had the happiness of 
being introduced to the acquaintance of Mr. Gray. 
Some very juvenile imitations of Milton's juvenile 
poems, which I had written a year or two before, 
and of which the Monody on Mr. Pope's death was 
the principal *, he then, at the request of one of 
my friends, was so obliging as to revise. The 
same year, on account of a dispute which had hap- 
pened between the master and fellows of Pem- 
broke-Hall, I had the honour of being nominated 
by the Fellows to fill one of the vacant Fellow- 
ships f. I was at this time scholar of St. John's 
College, and Bachelor of Arts, personally unknown 
to the gentlemen who favoured me so highly ; 
therefore that they gave me this mark of di- 
stinction and preference was greatly owing to Mr. 
Gray, who was well acquainted with several of that 
society, and to Dr. Heberden, whose known par- 
tiality to every, even the smallest degree of merit, 
led him warmly to second his recommendation. 
The reader, I hope, will excuse this short piece of 



* The other two were in imitation of < 1' Allegro 
et il Penseroso,' and entitled * II Bellicoso et il Paci- 
fico.' The latter of these I was persuaded to revise 
and publish in the Cambridge Collection of Verses 
on the Peace of Aix-la-Chapelle, 1748. The former 
has since got into a Miscellany, printed by G. Pearch, 
from the indiscretion, I suppose, of some acquaint- 
ance who had a copy of it. 

f Though nominated in 1747, I was not elected 
Fellow till February, 174<J. The Master having 
refused his assent, claiming a negative, the affair 
was therefore not compromised till after an inef- 
fectual litigation of two years. 



MR. GRAY. 255 

egotism, as it is written to express my gratitude, 
as well to the living as the dead, to declare the 
sense I shall ever retain of the honour which the 
Fellows of Pembroke- Hall then did me, and to 
particularise the time of an incident which brought 
me into the neighbourhood of Mr. Gray's College ; 
and served to give that cement to our future inti- 
macy, which is usually rendered stronger by proxi- 
mity of place. 

The letters, which I select for this Section, are 
from the date of the year 1712 to that of 1768, 
when Mr. Gray was made Professor of Modern 
History. This, as it is a considerable interval of 
time, will perhaps require me the more frequently 
to fesume my narrative; especially as I cannot 
now produce one continued chain of correspond- 
ence. 



LETTER I. 

MR. GRAY TO DR. WHARTON*. 

Cambridge, Dec. 27, 1742. 
I OUGHT to have returned you my thanks a long 
time ago, for the pleasure, I should say prodigy, 
of your letter; for such a thing has not happened 

— _ — _ _ 

* Of Old Park, near Durham. With this gen- 
tleman Mr. Gray contracted an acquaintance very 
early; and though they were not educated together 
at Eton, yet afterwards at Cambridge, when the 
Doctor was Fellow of Pembroke-Hall, they be- 
came intimate friends, and continued so to the 
time of Mr. Gray's death. 



256 MEMOIRS OP 

above twice within this last age to mortal man, 
and no one here can conceive what it may portend. 
You have heard, I suppose, how I have been em- 
ployed a part of the time ; how, by my own inde- 
fatigable application for these ten years past, and 
by the care and vigilance of that worthy magi- 
strate the Man in Blue *, (who, I assure you, has 
not spared his labour, nor could have done more 
for his own son), I am got half way to the top of 
jurisprudence f, and bid as fair as another body to 
open a case of impotency with all decency and 
circumspection. You see my ambition. I do not 
doubt but some thirty years hence I shall convince 
the world and you that I am a very pretty young 
fellow; and may come to shine in a profession, 
perhaps the noblest of all except man-midwifery. 
As for you, if your distemper and you can but 
agree about going to London, I may reasonably 
expect in a much shorter time to see you in your 
three-cornered villa, doing the honours of a well- 
furnished table with as much dignity, as rich a 
mien, and as capacious a belly, as Dr. Mead. Me- 
thinks I see Dr. * *, at the lower end of it, lost 
in admiration of your goodly person and parts, 
cramming down his envy (for it will rise) with the 
wing of a pheasant, and drowning it in neat Bur- 
gundy. But not to tempt your asthma too much 
with such a prospect, I should think you might be 
almost as happy and as great as this even in the 
country. But you know best, and I should be 
sorry to say any thing that might stop you in the 
career of glory; far be it from me to hamper 
the wheels of your gilded chariot. Go on, Sir 
Thomas ; and when you die (for even physicians 
must die), may the faculty in Warwick-lane erect 
your statue in the very niche of Sir John Cutler's. 

* A servant of the Vice-chancellor's for the time 
being, usually known by the name of Blue Coat, 
whose business it is to attend acts for degrees, &c 

t U e. Bachelor of Civil Law. 



MR. GRAY. 257 

I was going to tell you how sorry I am for your 
illness, but I hope it is too late now: I can only 
say that I really was very sorry. May you live a 
hundred Christmasses, and eat as many collars of 
brawn stuck with rosemary. Adieu, &c. 



Though I have said that Mr. Gray, on his return 
to Cambridge, laid aside poetry almost entirely, 
yet I find amongst his papers a small fragment in 
verse, which bears internal evidence that it was 
written about this very time. The foregoing letter, 
in which he employs so much of his usual vein of 
ridicule on the University, seems to be no improper 
introduction to it : I shall therefore insert it here 
without making any apology, as I have given one, 
on a similar occasion, in the first Section. 

It seems to have been intended as a Hymn or 
Address to Ignorance ; and I presume, had he pro- 
ceeded with it, would have contained much good 
satire upon false science and scholastic pedantry. 
What he writ of it is purely introductory; yet 
many of the lines are so strong, and the general 
cast of the versification so musical, that I believe it 
will give the generality of readers a higher opinion 
of his poetical talents than many of his lyrical pro- 
ductions have done. T speak of the generality ; 
because it is a certain fact, that their taste is 
founded upon the ten-syllable couplets of Dryden 
and Pope, and upon these only. 

HAIL, Horrors, hail ! ye ever gloomy bowers, 
Ye gothic fanes, and antiquated towers, 
Where rushy Camus' slowly-winding flood 
Perpetual draws his humid train of mud : 



258 MEMOIRS OF 

Glad I revisit thy neglected reign, 

Oh take me to thy peaceful shade again. 

But chiefly thee, whose influence breathed from 
high 
Augments the native darkness of the sky ; 
Ah Ignorance ! soft salutary power ! 
Prostrate with filial reverence I adore. 
Thrice hath Hyperion rolPd his annual race, 
Since weeping I forsook thy fond embrace. 
Oh say, successful dost thou still oppose 
Thy leaden iEgis 'gainst our ancient foes ? 
Still stretch, tenacious of thy right divine, 
The massy sceptre o'er thy slumb'ring line ? 
And dews Lethean through the land dispense 
To steep in slumbers each benighted sense ? 
If any spark of wit's delusive ray 
Break out, and flash a momentary day, 
With damp, cold touch forbid it to aspire, 
And huddle up in fogs the dangerous fire, 

Oh say— she hears me not, but careless grown, 
Lethargic nods upon her ebon throne. 
Goddess ! awake, arise, alas my fears ! 
Can powers immortal feel the force of years ? 
Not thus of old, with ensigns wide unfurl'd, 
She rode triumphant o'er the vanquish'd world ; 
Fierce nations own'd her unresisted might, 
And all was ignorance, and all was night. 

Oh sacred age ! Oh times for ever lost ! 
{The school-man's glory, and the chu rchman's boast. ) 
For ever gone — yet still to Fancy new, 
Her rapid wings the transient scene pursue, 
And bring the buried ages back to view. 

High on her car, behold the grandam ride 
Like old Sesostris with barbaric pride; 
* * * * a team of harness'd monarchs bend 

***** 



MR. GRAY. 259 



LETTER II. 

MR. GRAY TO DR. WHARTON. 

Peterhouse, April 26, 1744. 
YOU write so feelingly to Mr. Brown, and re- 
present your abandoned condition in terms so 
touching, that what gratitude could not effect in 
several months, compassion has brought about in a 
few days ; and broke that strong attachment, or 
rather allegiance, which I and all here owe to our 
sovereign lady and mistress, the president of pre- 
sidents and head of heads (if I may be permitted to 
pronounce her name, that ineffable Octogrammaton), 
the power of Laziness. You must know she had 
been pleased to appoint me (in preference to so 
many old servants of hers who had spent their 
whole lives in qualifying themselves for the office) 
grand picker of straws and push-pin player to her 
Supinity (for that is her title.) The first is much 
- in the nature of lord president of the council ; and 
the other like the groom-porler, only without 
the profit; but as they are both things of i*£ry 
great honour in this country, I considered with 
myself the load of envy attending such great 
charges; and besides (between you and me) I found 
myself unable to support the fatigue of keeping up 
the appearance that persons of such dignity must 
do, so I thought proper to decline it, and excused 
myself as well as I could. However, as you see 
such an affair must take up a good deal of time, 
and it has always been the policy of this court to 
proceed slowly, like the Imperial and that of 
Spain, in the despatch of business, you will on this 
account the easier forgive me, if I have not an- 
swered your letter before. 



260 MEMOIRS OF 

You desire to know, it seems, what character 
the poem of your young friend bears here*. I 
wonder that you ask the opinion of a nation, 
where those, who pretend to judge, do not judge at 
all ; and the rest (the wiser part) wait to catch the 
judgment of the world immediately above them; 
that is, Dick's and the Rainbow Coffee-houses. 
Your readier way would be to ask the ladies that 
keep the bars in those two theatres of criticism. 
However, to show you that I am a judge, as well 
as my countrymen, I will tell you, though I have 
rather turned it over than read it, (but no matter ; 
no more have they) that it seems to me above the 
middling; and now and then, for a little while, 
rises even to the best, particularly in description. 
It is often obscure, and even unintelligible; and 
too much infected with the Hutchinson jargon. 
In short, its great fault is, that it was published at 
least nine years too early. And so methinks in a 
few words, * a la mode du Temple,' I have very 
pertly despatched what perhaps may for several 
years have employed a very ingenious man worth 
fifty of myself. 

You are much in the right to have a taste for 
Socrates ; he was a divine man. I must tell you, 
by way of news of the place, that the other day a 
certain new professor made an apology for him an 
hour long in the schools ; and all the world brought 
in Socrates guilty, except the people of his own 
college. 



* Pleasures of the Imagination. From the post- 
humous publication of Dr. Akenside's Poems, 
it should seem that the author had very much the 
same opinion afterwards of his own work, which 
Mr. Gray here expresses : since he undertook a re- 
form of it, which must have given him, had he con- 
cluded it, as much trouble as if he had written it 
entirely new. 



MR. GRAY. 261 

The Muse is gone, and left me in far worse 
company ; if she returns, you will hear of her. 
As to her child * (since you are so good as to in- 
quire after it) it is but. a puling chit yet, not a bit 
grown to speak of: I believe, poor thing, it has 
got the worms that will carry it off at last. Mr. 
Trollope and I are in a course of tar- water ; he for 
his present, and 4 for my future distempers. If you 
think it will kill me, send away a man and horse 
directly ; for I drink like a fish. Yours, &c. 



LETTER IIL 

MR. GRAY TO DR. WHARTON. 

Cambridge, Dec. 11, 1746. 
I WOULD make you an excuse, (as indeed I 
ought) if they were a sort of thing I ever gave any 
credit to myself in these cases ; but I know they 
are never true. Nothing so silly as indolence when 
it hopes to disguise itself: every one knows it by 

j its saunter, as they do his Majesty (God bless him) 
at a masquerade, by the firmness of his tread and 
the elevation of his chin. However, somewhat I 
had to say that has a little shadow of reason in it. 

- I have been in town (I suppose you know) flaunting 
about at all kind of public places with two friends 
lately returned from abroad. The world itself has 
some attractions in it to a solitary of six years 
standing ; and agreeable well-meaning people of 
sense (thank Heaven there are so few of them) are 

* He here means his poem * De Principiis Cogi- 
tandi.' See the last Section. 



262 MEMOIRS OF 

my peculiar magnet. It is no wonder then if I 
felt some reluctance at parting with them so soon ; 
or if my spirits, when I returned back to my cell, 
should, sink for a time, not indeed, to storm and 
tempest, but a good deal below changeable. Besides, 
Seneca says (and my pitch of philosophy does not 
pretend to be much above Seneca) * Nunquam 
mores, quos extuli, refero. Aliquid ex eo quod 
composui, turbatur: aliquid ex his, quse fugavi, 
redit.' And it will happen to such as us, mere 
imps of science. Well it may, when Wisdom her- 
self is forced often 

in sweet retired solitude 
To plume her feathers, and let grow her wings, 
That in the various bustle of resort 
Were all too ruffled, and sometimes impaired. 

It is a foolish thing that without money one 
cannot either live as one pleases, or where and with 
whom one pleases. Swift somewhere says, that 
money is liberty ; and I fear money is friendship 
too and society, and almost every external blessing. 
It is a great, though an ill-natured, comfort, to see 
most of those who have it in plenty, without plea- 
sure, without liberty, and without friends. 

I am not altogether of your opinion as to your 
historical consolation in time of trouble : a calm 
melancholy it may produce, a stiller sort of despair 
(and that only in some circumstances, and on some 
constitutions) ; but I doubt no real comfort or con- 
tent can ever arise in the human mind, but from 
hope. 

I take it very ill you should have been in the 
twentieth year of the war *, and yet say nothing of 
the retreat before Syracuse : Is it, or is it not, the 
finest thing you ever read in your life? And how 
does Xenophon or Plutarch agree with pm ? For 

* Thucydides, 1. vii. 



MR. GRAY. ^63 

my part I read Aristotle, his Poetics, Politics, and 
Morals ; though I do not well know which is which. 
In the first place, he is the hardest author by far I 
ever meddled with. Then he has a dry concise- 
ness, that makes one imagine one is perusing a 
table of contents rather than a book: it tastes for 
all the world like chopped hay, or rather like 
chopped logic; for he has a violent affection to 
that art, being in some sort his own invention ; so 
that he often loses himself in little trifling di- 
stinctions and verbal niceties ; and, what is worse, 
leaves you to extricate him as well as you can. 
Thirdly, he has suffered vastly from the transerib- 
blers, as all authors of great brevity necessarily 
must. Fourthly and lastly, he has abundance of 
fine uncommon things, which make him well worth 
the pains he gives one. You see what you are to 
expect from him. 



LETTER IV. 

MR. GRAY TO MR. WALPOLE. 

Cambridge, 1747. 
I HAD been absent from this place a few days, and 
at my return found Cibber's book * upon my table : 
I return you my thanks for it, and have already 
run over a considerable part ; for who could resist 
Mrs. Letitia Pilkington's recommendation ? (By the 

* Entitled ' Observations on Cicero's Character,' 
or some such thing ; for I have not the book by 
me, and it has been long since forgot. 



264 MEMOIRS OF 

way, is there any such gentlewoman * ? or has 
somebody put on the style of a scribbling woman's 
panegyric to deceive and laugh at Colley ? ) He 
seems to me full as pert and as dull as usual. There 
are whole pages of common-place stuff, that for 
stupidity might have been wrote by Dr. Waterland, 
or any other grave divine, did not the flirting saucy 
phrase give them at a distance an air of youth and 
gaiety : it is very true, he is often in the right with 
regard to Tully's weaknesses ; but was there any 
one that did not see them ? Those, I imagine, that 
would find a man after God's own heart, are no, 
more likely to trust the doctor's recommendation 
than the player's; and as to Reason and Truth, 
would they know their own faces, do you think, if 
they looked in the glass, and saw themselves so be- 
dizened in tattered fringe and tarnished lace, in 
French jewels, and dirty furbelows, the frippery of 
a stroller's wardrobe? 

Literature, to take it in its most comprehensive 
sense, and include every thing that requires in- 
vention or judgment, or barely application and in- 
dustry, seems indeed drawing apace to its dissolu- 
tion, and remarkably since the beginning of the war. 
I remember to have read Mr. Spence's pretty book ; 
though (as he then had not been at Rome for the 
last time) it must have increased greatly since that 
in bulk. If you ask me what I read, I protest I do 
not recollect one syllable; but only in general, 
that they were the best bred sort of men in the 
world, just the kind off rinds one would wish to 
meet in a fine summer's evening, if one wished to 
meet any at all. The heads and tails of the dia- 
logues, published separate in l6mo. would make 
the sweetest reading in natiur for young gentle- 
men of family and fortune, that are learning to 

* This lady made herself more known some time 
after the date of this letter. 



MR. GRAY. 265 

I dance. * I rejoice to hear there is such a crowd of 

I dramatical performances coming upon the stag< . 

I Agrippina can stay very well, she thanks you, and 

I be damned at leisure : I hope in God you have not 

J mentioned, or showed to any body that scene (for 

I trusting in its badness, I forgot to caution you 

I concerning it) ; but I heard the other day, that I 

I was writing a play, and was told the name of it, 

I which nobody here could know, I am sure. The 

I employment you propose to me much better suits 

j my inclination; but I much fear our joint-stock 

j would hardly compose a small volume; what I 

[ have is less considerable than you would imagine, 
and of that little we should not be willing to pub- 
lish all***t 

* This ridicule on the platonic way of dialogue 
i (as it was aimed to be, though nothing less re- 
sembles it) is, in my opinion, admirable. Lord 
j Shaftsbury was the first who brought it into vogue, 
! and Mr. Spence (if we except a few Scotch writers) 
I the last who practised it. As it has now been laid 
aside some years, we may hope, for the sake of 
i true taste, that this frippery mode of composition 
I, will never come into fashion again; especially since 
Dr. Hurd has pointed out, by example as well 
. as precept, wherein the true beauty of dialogue- 
i writing consists. 

f What is here omitted was a short catalogue of 
Mr. West's poetry then in Mr. Gray's hands ; the 
reader has seen as much of it in the three fore- 
going sections as I am persuaded his friend would 
have published, had he prosecuted the task which 
Mr. Walpole recommended to him, that of printing 
his own and Mr. West's Poems in the same vo- 
J lume ; and which we also perceive from this letter, 
|j he was not averse from doing. This therefore 
L seems to vindicate the editor's plan in arranging 
these papers ; as he is enabled by it not only to 
show what Mr. West would have been, but what 

N 



265 MEMOIRS OF 

This is all I can any where find. You, I ima- 
gine, may have a good deal more. I should not 
care how unwise the ordinary run of readers might 
think my affection for him, provided those few, 
that ever loved any body, or judged of any thing 
rightly, might, from such little remains, be moved 
to consider what he would have been ; and to wish 
that heaven had granted him a longer life and a 
mind more at ease. 

I send you a few lines, though Latin, which you 
do not like, for the sake of the subject * ; it makes 
part of a large design, and is the beginning of the 
fourth book, which was intended to treat of the 
passions. Excuse the three first verses ; you know 
vanity, with the Romans, is a poetical licence. 



LETTER V. 

MR. GRAY TO MR. WALPOLE. 

Cambridge, 1747. 
I HAVE abundance of thanks to return you for 
the entertainment Mr. Spence's book has given me, 
which I have almost run over already ; and I much 
fear (see what it is to make a figure) the breadth of 
the margin, and the neatness of the prints, which 
are better done than one could expect, have pre- 
vailed upon me to like it far better than I did in 

Mr. Gray was, I mean not as a poet, for that the 
world knew before, but as an universal scholar, 
and (what is still or more consequence), as an ex- 
cellent moral man. 

• The admirable apostrophe to Mr. West; see 
page 251. 



MR. GRAY. 267 

manuscript, for I think it is not the very genteel 
deportment of Polymetis, nor the lively wit of 
Mysagetes, that have at all corrupted me. 

There is one fundamental fault, from whence 
most of the little faults throughout the whole 
arise. He professes to neglect the Greek writers, 
who could have given him more instruction on the 
very heads he professes to treat than all the others 
put together: who does not know, that upon the 
Latin, the Sabine, and Hetruscan mythology (which 
probably might themselves, at a remoter period of 
time, owe their origin to Greece too) the Romans 
ingrafted almost the whole religion of Greece to 
make what is called their own ? It would be hard 
to find any one circumstance that is properly of 
their invention. In the ruder days of the republic, 
the picturesque part of their religion (which is the 
province he has chose, and would be thought to 
confine himself to) was probably borrowed entirely 
from the Tuscans, who, as a wealthy and trading 
people, may be well supposed, and indeed are 
known, to have had the arts flourishing in a consi- 
derable degree among them. What could inform him 
here, but Dio. Halicarnassus (who expressly treats 
of those times with great curiosity and industry) 
and the remains of the first Roman writers? The 
former he has neglected as a Greek ; and the latter, 
he says, were but little acquainted with the arts, 
• and consequently are but of small authority. In 
ij the better ages, when every temple and public 
building in Rome was peopled with imported 
deities and heroes, and when all the artists of re- 
putation they made use of were Greeks, what 
wonder, if their eyes grew familiarised to Grecian 
forms and habits (especially in a matter of this 
kind, where so much depends upon the imagina- 
tion) ; and if those figures introduced with them a 
belief of such fables, as first gave them being, and 
dressed them out in their various attributes, it was 
natural then, and (I should think) necessary, to go 



268 MEMOIRS OF 

to the source itself, the Greek accounts of their 
own religion; but, to say the truth, I suspect he 
was little conversant in those books and that lan- 
guage ; for he rarely quotes any but Lucian, an 
author that falls in every body's way, and who 
lived at the very extremity of that period he has 
set to his inquiries, later than any of the poets he 
has meddled with, and for that reason ought to 
have been regarded as but an indifferent autho- 
rity ; especially being a Syrian too. His book (as 
he says himself) is, I think, rather a beginning 
than a perfect work ; but a beginning at the wrong 
end : for if any body should finish it by inquiring 
into the Greek mythology, as he proposes, it will 
be necessary to read it backward. 

There are several little neglects, that one might 
have told him of, which I noted in reading it 
hastily; as page 311, a discourse about orangey- 
trees, occasioned by Virgil's ' inter odoratum lauri 
nemus,' where he fancies the Roman laurus to 
be our laurel ; though undoubtedly the bay-tree, 
which is odoratum, and (I believe) still called 
lauro, or alloro, at Rome; and that the 'malum 
medicum' in the Georgick is the orange; though 
Theophrastus, whence Virgil borrowed it, or even 
Pliny, whom he himself quotes, might convince 
him it is the cedrato which he has often tasted at 
Florence. Page 144 is an account of Domeni- 
ehino's Cardinal Virtues, and a fling at the Jesuits, 
neither of which belong to them : the painting is 
in a church of the Barnabiti, dedicated to St, Carlo 
Borromeo, whose motto is Humilitas. Page 151, 
in a note, he says, the old Romans did not regard 
Fortune as a deity ; though Servius Tullius (whom 
she was said to be in love with ; nay, there was 
actually an affair between them) founded her 
temple in Foro Boario. By the way, her worship 
was Greek, and this king was educated in the 
family of Tarquinius Priscus, whose father was a 
Corinthian ; so it is easy to conceive how early the 



MR. GRAY. 269 

religion of Rome might be mixed with that of 
Greece, &c. &c. 

Dr. Middleton has sent me to-day a book on the 
Roman Senate, the substance of a dispute between 
Lord Hervey and him, though it never inter- 
rupted their friendship, he says, and I dare say 
not. 



LETTER VI. 

MR. GRAY TO MR. WALPOLE. 

Cambridge, March 1, 1747. 
AS one ought to be particularly careful to avoid 
blunders in a compliment of condolence, it would 
be a sensible satisfaction to me (before I testify my 
sorrow, and the sincere part I take in your mis- 
fortune) to know for certain, who it is I lament. 
I knew Zara and Selima, (Selima, was it? or 
Fatima) or rather I knew them both together ; for 
1 cannot justly say which was which. Then as to 
your handsome cat, the name you distinguish her 
by, I am no less at a loss, as well knowing one's 
handsome cat is always the cat one likes best ; or, 
if one be alive and the other dead, it is usually 
the latter that is the handsomest. Besides, if the 
point were never so clear, 1 hope you do not think 
me so ill-bred or so imprudent as to forfeit all my 
interest in the surviver : Oh no ! I would rather 
seem to mistake, and imagine to be sure it must 
be the tabby one that had met with this sad acci- 
] dent. Till this affair is a little better determined, 
\ you will excuse me if I do not begin to cry ; 

« Tempus inane peto, requiem, spatiumque doloris.' 

Which interval is the more convenient, as it gives 



270 MEMOIRS OF 

time to rejoice with you on your new honors *. 
This is only a beginning ; I reckon next week W3 
shall hear you are a Free-mason, or a Gormogon 
at least. — Heigh ho ! I feel (as you to be sure have 
done long since) that I have very little to say, at 
least in prose. Somebody will be the better for it ; 
I do not mean you, but your cat, feue Made- 
moiselle Selime, whom I am about to immortalize 
for one week or fortnight, as follows f-*** 
There's a poem for you; it is rather too long 
for an epitaph. 



LETTER VII. 

MR. GRAY TO DR. WHARTON. 

Stoke, June 5, 1748. 
YOUR friendship has interested itself in my af- 
fairs so naturally, that I cannot help troubling you 
a little with a detail of them. ;{;»*•*•*«** And 
now, my dear Wharton, why must I tell you a 

* Mr, Walpole was about this time elected a 
Fellow of the Royal Society. 

t The reader need hardly be told, that the 4th 
ode in the collection of his Poems was inserted in 
the place of these asterisks. This letter (as some 
other slight ones have been) is printed chiefly to 
mark the date of one of his compositions. 

£ The paragraph here omitted contained an ac- 
count of Mr. Gray's loss of a house by fire in Corn- 
hill, and the expense he should be at in rebuilding 
it. Though it was insured, he could at this time 
ill bear to lay out the additional sum necessary for 
the purpose. 



MR. GRAY. 271 

thing so contrary to my own wishes and yours ? I 
believe it is impossible for me to see you in the 
North, or to enjoy any of those agreeable hours I 
had nattered myself with. This business will 
oblige me to be in town several times during the 
summer, particularly in August, when half the 
money is to be paid ; besides the good people here 
would think me the most careless and ruinous of 
mortals, if I should take such a journey at this 
time. The only satisfaction I can pretend to, is 
that of hearing from you, and particularly at this 
time when I was bid to expect the good news of an 
increase of your family. Your opinion of Dio- 
dorus is doubtless right; but there are things in 
him very curious, got out of better authorities now 
lost. Do you remember the Egyptian history, and 
particularly the account of the gold mines ? My 
own readings have been cruelly interrupted : what 
f I have been highly pleased with, is the new 
comedy from Paris by Gresset, called le Mechant ; 
if you have it not, buy his works all together in 
two little volumes : they are collected by the Dutch 
booksellers, and consequently contain some trash ; 
but then there are the Ververt, the Epistle to 

j P. Bougeant, the Chartreuse, that to his sister, an 
Ode on his Country, and another on Mediocrity, 
and the Sidnei, another comedy, all which have 
great beauties. There is also a poem lately pub- 
lished by Thomson, called the Castle of Indo- 
lence, with some good stanzas in it. Mr. Mason 

1 is my acquaintance ; I liked that Ode * much, but 

* Ode to a Water Nymph, published about this 
time in Dodsley's Miscellany. On reading what 
follows, many readers, I suspect, will think me as 

; simple as ever, in forbearing to expunge the para- 
graph : but as I publish Mr. Gray's sentiments of 

I authors, as well living as dead, without reserve, I 
should do them injustice, if I was more scrupulous 
with respect to myself. My friends, I am sure, 



272 MEMOIRS OF 

have found no one else that did. He has much 
fancy, little judgment, and a good deal of modesty ; 
I take him for a good and well-meaning creature ; 
but then he is really in simplicity a child, and loves 
every body he meets with : he reads little or no- 
thing ; writes abundance, and that with a design to 
make his fortune by it. My best compliments to 
Mrs. Wharton and your family : does that name in- 
clude any body I am not yet acquainted with? 



LETTER VIII. 

MR. GRAY TO DR. WHARTON. 

Stoke, August 19, 1748. 
. I AM glad you have had any pleasure in Gresset ; he 
seems to me a truly elegant and charming writer : 
the Mechant is the best comedy I ever read ; his 
Edward I could scarce get through ; it is puerile ; 
though there are good lines, such as this for 
example : 

1 Le jour d'un nouveau regne est le jour des ingrats." 



will be much amused with this and another pas- 
sage hereafter of a like sort. My enemies, if they 
please, may sneer at it ; and say (which they will 
very truly) that twenty-five years have made a very 
considerable abatement in my general philanthropy. 
Men of the world will not blame me for writing 
from so prudent a motive, as that of making my 
fortune by it; and yet the truth, I believe, at the 
time was, that I was perfectly well satisfied, if my 
publications furnished me with a few guineas to 
see a play or an opera. 



MR. GRAY. 273 

But good lines will make any thing rather than a 
good play: however you are to consider this as 
a collection made up by the Dutch booksellers; 
many things unfinished, or written in his youth, 
or designed not for the world, but to make his 
friends laugh, as the Lutrin vivant, &c. There 
are two noble lines, which, as they are in the 
middle of an Ode to the King, may perhaps have 
escaped you : 

* Le cri d'un peuple heureux est la seule eloquence, 
Qui scait parler des rois.' 

Which is very true, and should have been a hint to 
himself not to write odes to the king at all. 

As I have nothing more to say at present, I fill 
my paper with the beginning of an Essay; what 
name to give it I know not; but the subject is the 
Alliance of Education and Government : I mean to 
show that they must both concur to produce great 
and useful men. I desire your judgment upon it 
before I proceed any further. 



The first fifty-seven verses of an Ethical Essay 
accompanied this letter, which I shall here insert, 
with about fifty lines more, all of them finished in 
his highest manner. Had this noble design been 
completed, I may, with great boldness, assert that 
it would have been one of the most capital poems 
of the kind that ever appeared either in our own, 
or any language. I am not able to inform the 
reader how many essays he meant to write upon 
the subject; nor do I believe that he had ever so 
far settled his plan as to determine that point : but 
since his theme was as extensive as human nature, 
(an observation he himself makes in a subsequent 

N2 



274 MEMOIRS OF MR. GRAY. 

letter on the 'Esprit des Loix') it is plain the 
whole work would have been considerable in point 
of size. He was busily employed in it at the time 
when M. de Montesquieu's book was first pub- 
lished : on reading it, he said the Baron had fore- 
stalled some of his best thoughts; and yet the 
reader will find, from the small fragment he has 
left, that the two writers differ a little in one very 
material point, viz. the influence of soil and climate 
on national manners *. Some time time after he 
had thoughts of resuming his plan, and of dedi- 
cating it, by an introductory ode, to M. de Mon- 
tesquieu ; but that great man's death, which hap- 
pened in 1775, made him drop his design finally. 

On carefully reviewing the scattered papers in 
prose, which he writ, as hints for his own use in 
the prosecution of this work, I think it best to 
form part of them into a kind of commentary at 
the bottom of the pages ; they will serve greatly to 
elucidate (as far as they go) the method of his rea- 
soning. 

* See L'Esprit des Loix, Liv. 14. chap. C, &c. 



275 



ESSAY I. 



— rioTay cjj yaO=; tocv ya£ aoiSav 

Q\jti Tcoi e\g A/5ai/ ye tov ixAsAaS'ov7a £*jXa|s7;. 
THEOCRITUS. 



AS sickly plants betray a niggard earth, 
Whose barren bosom starves her gen'rous birth, 
Nor genial warmth, nor genial juice retains 
Their roots to feed, and fill their verdant veins : 
And as in climes, where Winter holds his reign, 5 
The soil, though fertile, will not teem in vain, 

COMMENTARY. 

The author's subject being (as we have seen) The 
necessary Alliance between a good Form of Go- 
vernment and a good Mode of Education , in 
order to produce the Happiness of Mankind, the 
poem opens with two similes ; an uncommon kind 
of exordium : but which, I suppose, the poet in- 
tentionally chose, to intimate the analogical method 
he meant to pursue in his subsequent reasonings. 
1st, He asserts that men without education are 
like sickly plants in a cold or barren soil, (line 1 to 

NOTES. 

[As sickly plants, &c. 1. 1.] If any copies of 
this Essay would have authorised me to have made 
an alteration in the disposition of the lines, I would, 



276 MEMOIRS OF 

Forbids her gems to swell, her shades to rise, 
Nor trusts her blossoms to the churlish skies : 
So draw mankind in vain the vital airs, 
Unform'd, unfriended, by those kindly cares, 10 
That health and vigour to the soul impart, 
Spread the young thought, and warm the opening 

heart : 
So fond Instruction on the growing powers 
Of nature idly lavishes her stores, 

COMMENTARY. 

5, and 8 to 12) ; and, 2dly, he compares them, when 
unblest with a just and well-regulated government, 
to plants that will not blossom or bear fruit in an 
unkindly and inclement air (1. 5 to 9» and 1. 13 to 

NOTES. 

for the sake of perspicuity, have printed the first 
twelve in the following manner; because I think 
the poetry would not have been in the least hurt 
by such a transposition, and the poet's meaning 
would have been much more readily perceived. I 
put them down here for that purpose. 

As sickly plants betray a niggard earth, 
Whose barren bosom starves her gen'rous birth, 
Nor genial warmth, nor genial juice retains 
Their roots to feed, and fill their verdant veins : 
So draw mankind in vain the vital airs, 
Unform'd, unfriended by those kindly cares, 
That health and vigour to the soul impart, 
Spread the young thought, and warm the opening 

heart. 
And as in climes, where Winter holds his reign, 
The soil, though fertile, will not teem in vain, 
Forbids her gems to swell, her shades to rise, 
Nor trusts her blossoms to the churlish skies : 
So fond Instruction, &c. 



MR. GRAY. 277 

If equal Justice with unclouded face 15 

Smile not indulgent on the rising race, 

And scatter with a free, though frugal hand 

Light golden showers of plenty o'er the land : 

But Tyranny has fix'd her empire there, 

To check their tender hopes with chilling fear, 20 

And blast the blooming promise of the year. 

This spacious animated scene survey, 
From where the rolling orb, that gives the day, 
His sable sons with nearer course surrounds 
To either pole, and life's remotest bounds. 25 

How rude soe'er th' exterior form we find, 
Howe'er opinion tinge the varied mind, 
Alike, to all the kind, impartial Heav'n 
The sparks of truth and happiness has giv'n : 
With sense to feel, with memory to retain, 30 

They follow pleasure, and they fly from pain; 
Their judgment mends the plan their fancy draws, 
Th' event presages, and explores the cause ; 
The soft returns of gratitude they know, 
By fraud elude, by force repel the foe ; 35 

While mutual wishes, mutual woes endear 
The social smile and sympathetic tear. 

Say, then, through ages by what fate confined 
To different climes seem different souls assign'd ? 

COMMENTARY. 

22.) Having thus laid down the two propositions 
he means to prove, he begins by examining into 
the characteristics which (taking a general view of 
mankind) all men have in common one with an- 
other (1. 22 to 39) ; they covet pleasure and avoid 
pain (1. 31) ; they feel gratitude for benefits (1. 34) ; 
they desire to avenge wrongs, which they effect 
either by force or cunning (1. 35) ; they are linked 
to each other by their common feelings, and par- 
ticipate in sorrow and in joy (1. 36, 37). If then 
all the human species agree in so many moral par- 
ticulars, whence arises the diversity of national 



278 MEMOIRS OF 

Here measured laws and philosophic ease 40 

Fix, and improve the polish'd arts of peace. 
There industry and gain their vigils keep, 
Command the winds, and tame th' unwilling deep. 
Here force and hardy deeds of blood prevail; 
There languid pleasure sighs in every gale. 45 

Oft o'er the trembling nations from afar 
Has Scythia breathed the living cloud of war; 



COMMENTARY. 

characters ? This question the poet puts at line 38, 
and dilates upon it to 1. 64. Why, says he, have 
some nations shown a propensity to commerce and 
industry; others to war and rapine; others to 
ease and pleasure? (1. 42 to 46.) Why have the 

NOTES. 

[Has Scythia breathed, &c. 1. 47.] The most 
celebrated of the early irruptions of the Scythians 
into the neighbouring countries is that under the 
conduct of Madyes, about the year of the creation 
3350, when they broke into Asia, during the reign 
of Cyaxares, king of the Medes, and conqueror of 
the Assyrians, plundered it at discretion, and kept 
possession of it during twenty-eight years. Many 
successive incursions, attended with every kind of 
desolation, are enumerated by historians; parti- 
cularly those, in A.D. 252, during the reign of 
Gallus and Volusianus, and in 26 1, under that of 
Gallienus. Under the Greek emperors also, to 
mention only the years 1053 and 11QJ, it appears 
that the Scythians still continued their accustomed 
ravages. In later times, the like spirit of suddea 
and destructive invasion has constantly prevailed ; 
and these same Scythians, under their modern 
name of Tartars, have, at different periods, over- 
run Asia, and even some parts of Europe : it is 



MR. GRAY. 279 

And, where the deluge burst, with sweepy sway 
Their arms, their kings, their gods were roll'd away. 
As oft have issued, host impelling host, 50 

The blue-eyed myriads from the Baltic coast. 
The prostrate South to the destroyer yields 
Her boasted titles and her golden fields : 

COMMENTARY. 

Northern people overspread, in all ages, and pre- 
vailed over the Southern ? (1. 46 to 58.) Why has 
Asia been, time out of mind, the seat of despotism, 

NOTES. 

sufficient, on this point, to recall to the reader's 
memory the name of Gingis-Chan, Octa'i, and Ta- 
merlane, 

[The blue-eyed myriads, &c. 1. 51.] The dif- 
ferent nations of Germans, who inhabited or bor- 
dered on this coast, have been always distinguished 
by their various emigrations in search of a better 
soil and climate, and of a more commodious settle- 
ment. The reader will readily recollect the expe- 
dition of the Teutones, who joined the Cimbri, 
when they invaded the Roman territories to the 
united amount, it is said, of 300,000 fighting men ; 
the many inroads of the Germans into Gaul, under 
the conduct of Ariovistus ; and the numerous ir- 
ruptions, into the Roman empire, of the Suevi, 
the Goths, the Vandals, and lastly of the Lombards ; 
most of which nations came originally from the 
coasts here mentioned. The epithet * blue-eyed* 
exhibits a distinguishing feature of the ancient 
Germans ; and is particularly remarked by Tacitus 
and Juvenal. ' Truces et cserulei oculi,' observes 
the former, ' de Popul. German.' cap. 4. ; and the 
latter, « Caerula quis stupuit Germani lumina ?' 
Sat. 13. ver. \6i. 



280 MEMOIRS OF 

With grim delight the Brood of winter view 
A brighter day, and heavens of azure hue, 55 

Scent the new fragrance of the breathing rose* 
And quaff the pendent vintage as it grows. 
Proud of the yoke, and pliant to the rod, 
Why yet does Asia dread a monarch's nod, 
While European freedom still withstands 60 

Th' encroaching tide, that drowns her lessening 

lands ; 
And sees far off with an indignant groan 
Her native plains, and empires once her own. 
Can opener skies and suns of fiercer flame 
O'erpower the fire, that animates our frame ; 65 



COMMENTARY. 

, and Europe that of freedom ? (1.54 to 64.) Are we 
from these instances to imagine men necessarily 
enslaved to the inconveniences of the climate where 

. NOTES. 

[ With grim delight, &c. 1. 54.] It may not be 
improper here, after admiring the noble vein of 
poetical expression and imagery which adorns this 
description, to relate an incident in itself curious, 
which shows the propriety of it. The Normans, 
who came originally from Norway and Scandinavia, 
having, after a century of ravages, settled them- 
selves in Neustria (since called Normandy) in 912, 
were invited into the southern parts of Italy, in the 
year J0J8, by Gaimar, prince of Salerno. The am- 
bassadors, by his particular direction, carried with 
them a quantity of citrons, and of other rare fruits, 
as the most alluring proof of the mildness of the 
climate. He thought (and the event showed he 
was right in thinking so) that this ' Brood of 
winter,' delighted with the taste and fragrance of 
these delicacies, would the more readily consent to 
his proposal. [See Leo Ostiensis in his ' Chron. 



MR. GRAY. 081 

As lamps, that shed at eve a cheerful ray, 
Fade and expire beneath the eye of day ? 
Need we the influence of the northern star 
To string our nerves and steel our hearts to war ? 
And, where the face of nature laughs around, 70 
Must sick'ning virtue fly the tainted ground? 
Unmanly thought ! what seasons can control, 
What fancied zone can circumscribe the soul, 
Who, conscious of the source from whence she 

springs, 
By reason's light, on resolution's wings, 15 

Spite of her frail companion, dauntless goes 
O'er Lybia's deserts and through Zambia's snows ? 
She bids each slumb'ring energy awake, 
Another touch, another temper take, 
Suspends th' inferior laws, that rule our clay : 80 
The stubborn elements confess her sway ; 
Their little wants, their low desires, refine, 
And raise the mortal to a height divine. 

Not but the human fabric from the birth 
Imbibes a flavour of its parent earth. 85 

As various tracts enforce a various toil, 
The manners speak the idiom of their soil. 

COMMENTARY. 

they were born ? (1. 64 to 72. ) Or are we not rather 
to suppose there is a natural strength in the human 
mind, that is able to vanquish and break through 
them ? (1. 72 to 84.) It is confessed, however, that 
men receive an early tincture from the situation 

NOTES. 

Cassin.' and Petavius, ' Rationarium Temp.' pars, 
prim. lib. viii.] Mr. Gray's judgment, in what re- 
mains to us of this essay, is very remarkable. He 
borrows from poetry his imagery, his similes, and 
his expressions ; but his thoughts are taken, as the 
nature of the poem requires, from history and ob- 
servation. 



282 MEMOIRS OF 

An iron race the mountain-cliffs maintain, 
Foes to the gentler genius of the plain : 
For where unwearied sinews must be found 90 

With side-long plough to quell the flinty ground, 
To turn the torrent's swift-descending flood, 
To brave the savage rushing from the wood, 
What wonder, if to patient valour train'd 
They guard with spirit, what by strength they 

gain'd ? 
And while their rocky ramparts round they see, 96 
The rough abode of want and liberty, 
(As lawless force from confidence will grow) 
Insult the plenty of the vales below ? 



COMMENTARY. 

they are placed in, and the climate which produces 
them (1. 84. to 88). Thus the inhabitants of the 
mountains, inured to labour and patience, are na- 
turally trained to war (I. 88 to 96) ; while those of 
the plain are more open to any attack, and softened 
by ease and plenty (1. 96to99). Again, the Egyptians, 
from the nature of their situation, might be the in- 
ventors of home-navigation, from a necessity of 
keeping up an intercourse between their towns 
during the inundation of the Nile (1. 99 to ***«**). 
Those persons would naturally have the first turn 
to commerce, who inhabited a barren coast like the 
Tyrians, and were persecuted by some neighbour- 
ing tyrant; or were drove to take refuge on 
some shoals, like the Venetian and Hollander; 
their discovery of some rich island, in the infancy 
of the world, described. The Tartar, hardened to 
war by his rigorous climate and pastoral life, and 
by his disputes for water and herbage in a country 
without land-marks, as also by skirmishes between, 
his rival clans, was consequently fitted to conquer 
his rich Southern neighbours, whom ease and 
luxury had enervated : yet this is no proof that 
liberty and valour may not exist in southern climes, 



MR. GRAY. 283 

What wonder, in the sultry climes, that spread, 100 
Where Nile redundant o'er his summer-bed 



COMMENTARY. 

since the Syrians and Carthaginians gave noble in- 
stances of both ; and the Arabians carried their 
conquests as far as the Tartars. Rome also (for 
many centuries) repulsed those very nations, which, 
when she grew weak, at length demolished* her 
extensive empire.* * * * 



* The reader will perceive that the commentary 
goes further than the text. The reason for which 
is, that the editor found it so on the paper from 
which he formed that comment ; and as the thoughts 
seemed to be those which Mr. Gray would have 
next graced with the harmony of his numbers, he 
held it best to give them in continuation. There 
are other maxims on different papers, all appa- 
rently relating to the same subject, which are too 
excellent to be lost ; these therefore (as the place 
in which he meant to employ them cannot be as- 
certained) I shall subjoin to this note, under the 
title of detached sentiments. 

' Man is a creature not capable of cultivating his 
mind but in society, and in that only where he is 
not a slave to the necessities of life. 

« Want is the mother of the inferior arts, but 
Ease that of the finer ; as eloquence, policy, morality, 
poetry, sculpture, painting, architecture, which 
are the improvements of the former. 

« The climate inclines some nations to con- 
templation and pleasure ; others to hardship, action, 
and war ; but not so as to incapacitate the former 
for courage and discipline, or the latter for civility, 
politeness, and works of genius. 

* It is the proper work of education and govern- 



284 MEMOIRS OF 

From his broad bosom life and verdure flings, 

And broods o'er Egypt with his wat'ry wings, 

NOTES. 

[And broods o'er Egypt, &c. 1. 103.] The image 
seems to be taken from the figure of Jupiter Plu- 
vius, as represented on the Antonine Pillar. But 
the whole passage rises to a height beyond the 
powers either of sculpture or painting to ascend. 
The critic would, with difficulty, find any de- 
scription in antiquity, which exceeds this in point 
of true sublimity. 



ment united to redress the faults that arise from 
the soil and air. 

' The principal drift of education should be to 
make men think in the northern climates, and act 
in the southern. 

* The different steps and degrees of education 
may be compared to the artificer's operations upon 
marble ; it is one thing to dig it out of the quarry, 
and another to square it; to give it gloss and 
lustre, call forth every beautiful spot and vein, 
shape it into a column, or animate it into a statue. 

c To a native of free and happy governments his 
country is always dear : 

* He loves his old hereditary trees.' — Cowley. 

While the subject of a tyrant has no country; he 
is therefore selfish and base-minded ; he has no 
family, no posterity, no desire of fame ; or, if he 
has, of one that turns not on its proper object. 

' Any nation that wants public spirit, neglects 
education, ridicules the desire of fame, and even 
of virtue and reason, must be ill governed. 

' Commerce changes entirely the fate and genius 
of nations, by communicating arts and opinions, 
circulating money, and introducing the materials 
of luxury ; she first opens and polishes the mind, 



MR. GRAY. 285 

If with advent'rous oar and ready sail 

The dusky people drive before the gale ; 106 



then corrupts and enervates both that and the 
body. 

' Those invasions of effeminate southern nations 
by the warlike northern people seem (in spite of 
all the terror, mischief, and ignorance which they 
brought with them) to be necessary evils; in order 
to revive the spirit of mankind, softened and broken 
by the arts of commerce, to restore them to their 
native liberty and equality, and to give them again 
the power of supporting danger and hardship ; so 
a comet, with all the horrors that attend it as it 
passes through our system, brings a supply of 
warmth and light to the sun, and of moisture to 
the air. 

' The doctrine of Epicurus is ever ruinous to 
society : it had its rise when Greece was declining, 
and perhaps hastened its dissolution, as also that of 
Rome ; it is now propagated in France and in 
England, and seems likely to produce the same 
effect in both. 

* One principal characteristic of vice in tbe pre- 
sent age is the contempt of fame. 

■ Many are the uses of good fame to a generous 
mind : it extends our existence and example into 
future ages ; continues and propagates virtue, which 
otherwise would be as short-lived as our frame; 
and prevents the prevalence of vice in a generation 
more corrupt even than our own. It is impossible 
to conquer that natural desire we have of being re- 
membered ; even criminal ambition and avarice, 
the most selfish of all passions, would wish to leave 
a name behind them.' 

I find also among these papers a single couplet 
much too beautiful to be lost, though the place 
where he meant to introduce it cannot be ascer- 
tained; it must, however, have made a part of 



286 MEMOIRS OF 

Or on frail floats to neighb'ring cities ride, 
That rise and glitter o'er the ambient tide. 



NOTES. 

[That rise and glitter o'er the ambient tide, 1. 
107.] The foregoing account of the river Nile, 
while it is embellished with all the graces of de- 
scription, is given at the same time in exact con- 
formity to truth and reality; as the reader will 
observe from the following citation : ' Le Nil por- 
toit par tout la fecondite avec ses eaux salutaires, 
unissoit les villes entre elles, et la grande mer avec 
la Mer Rouge, entretenoit le commerce au dedans et 
au dehors du royaume, et le fortifioit contre l'en- 
nemi : de sorte qu'il etoit tout ensemble et le nour- 
ricier, et le defenseur de l'Egypte. On lui aban- 
donnoit la campagne : mais les villes, rehauss^es 
avec des travaux immenses, et s'elevant comme 
des iles au milieu des eaux, regardoient avec joye 
de cette hauteur toute la plaine inondee et tout en- 
semble fertilised par le Nil.' Bossuet, Disc, sur 
V Hist, trois. part. 

some description of the effect which the reformation 
had on our national manners : 
When love could teach a monarch to be wise, 
And gospel-light first dawn'd from Bullen's eyes. 
Thus, with all the attention that a connoisseur in 
painting employs in collecting every slight outline 
as well as finished drawing which led to the com- 
pletion of some capital picture, I have endeavoured 
to preserve every fragment of this great poetical 
design. It surely deserved this care, as it was one 
of the noblest which Mr. Gray ever attempted ; and 
also, as far as he carried it into execution, the 
most exquisitely finished. That he carried it no 
further is, and must ever be, a most sensible loss 
to the republic of letters. 



MR. GRAY. 287 



LETTER IX. 

MR. GRAY TO DR. WHARTON. 

Cambridge, March 9, 1748-9. 
YOU ask for some account of books. The prin- 
cipal I can tell you of is a work of the President 
Montesquieu, the labour of twenty years; it is 
called L'Esprit des Loix, 2 vol. 4to. printed at 
Geneva. He lays down the principles on which 
are founded the three sorts of government, de- 
spotism, the limited monarchy, and the republican ; 
and shows how from these are deduced the laws 
and customs by which they are guided and main- 
tained ; the education proper to each form ; the 
influence of climate, situation, religion, &c. on 
the minds of particular nations and on their po- 
licy. The subject, you see, is as extensive as 
mankind; the thoughts perfectly new, generally 
admirable as they are just, sometimes a little too 
refined. In short, there are faults, but such as an 
ordinary man could never have committed. The 
style very lively and concise (consequently some- 
times obscure) ; it is the gravity of Tacitus, whom 
he admires, tempered with the gaiety and fire of a 
Frenchman. The time of night will not suffer 
me to go on ; but I will write again in a week. 



288 MEMOIRS OF 

LETTER X. 

MR. GRAY TO DR. WHARTON. 

Cambridge, April 25, 1749. 
I PERCEIVE that second parts are as bad to write 
as they can be to read ; for this, Avhich you ought 
to have had a week after the first, has been a full 
month in coming forth. The spirit of laziness 
(the spirit of the place) begins to possess even 
me, who have so long declaimed against it; yet has 
it not so prevailed, but that I feel that discon- 
tent with myself, that ennui, that ever accom^ 
panies it in its beginnings. Time will settle my 
conscience ; time will reconcile me to this languid 
companion : we shall smoke, we shall tipple } we 
shall doze together: we shall have our little jokes 
like other people, and our old stories : brandy will 
finish what port began; and a month after the 
time you will see in some corner of a London 
Evening Post, « Yesterday died the Reverend Mr. 
John Gray, Senior Fellow of Clare-Hall, a facetious 
companion, and well respected by all that knew 
him. His death is supposed to have been occa- 
sioned by a fit of an apoplexy, being found fallen 
out of bed with his head in the chamber-pot.' 

In the meanwhile, to go on with my account 
of new books. Montesquieu's work, which I men- 
tioned before, is now publishing anew in 2 vols. 
8vo. Have you seen old Crebillon's Catilina, a 
tragedy, which has had a prodigious run at Paris ? 
Historical truth is too much perverted in it, which 
is ridiculous in a story so generally known ; but if 
you can get over this, the sentiments and versifica- 
tion are fine, and most of the characters * (parti- 
cularly the principal one) painted with great spirit. 

Mr. Birch, the indefatigable, has just put out a 



MR. GRAY. 289 

thick octavo of original papers of Queen Elizabeth's 
time ; there are many curious things in it, parti- 
cularly letters from Sir Robert Cecil (Salisbury) 
about his negotiations with Henry IV. of France, 
the Earl of Monmouth's odd account of Queen 
Elizabeth's death, several peculiarities of James I. 
and Prince Henry, &c. and above all, an excellent 
account of the state of France, with characters of 
the king, his court, and ministry, by Sir George 
Carew, ambassador there. This, I think, is all 
new worth mentioning, that I have seen or heard 
of; except a Natural History of Peru, in Spanish, 

printed at London, by Don something, a 

man of learning, sent thither by that court on 
purpose. 

You ask after my chronology. It was begun, as 
I I told you, almost two years ago, when I was in 
the midst of Diogenes Laertius and his Philoso- 
phers, as a proemium to their works. My in- 
tention in forming this table was not so much for 
public events, though these too have a column as- 
signed them, but rather in a literary way to com- 
pare the time of all great men, their writings and 
their transactions. I have brought it from the 
3oth Olympiad, where it begins, to the 113th ; that 
is, 332 years *. My only modern assistants were 
Marsham, Dodwell, and Bentley. 

I have since that read Pausanias and Athenseus 
all through, and iEschylus again. I am now in 
Pindar and Lysias ; for I take verse and prose to- 
gether like bread and cheese. 

* This laborious work was formed much in the 
manner of the President Henault's ' Histoire de 
France.' Every page consisted of nine columns ; 
one for the Olympiad, the next for the Archons, 
the third for the public affairs of Greece, the three 
I next for the Philosophers, and the three last for 
Poets, Historians, and Orators. I do not find it 
carried further than the date above-mentioned. 

O 



<290 MEMOIRS OF 

LETTER XL 

MR. GRAY TO DR. WHARTON. 

Cambridge, August 8, 1749- 
I PROMISED Dr. Keene long since to give you an 
account of our magnificences here * ; but the news- 
papers and he himself in person have got the start 
of my indolence, so that by this time you are well 
acquainted with all the events that adorned that 
week of wonders. Thus much I may venture to 
tell you, because it is probable nobody else has 
done it, that our friend * *'s zeal and eloquence sur- 
passed all power of description. Vesuvio in an 
eruption was not more violent than his utterance, 
nor (since I am at my mountains) Pelion, with all 
its pine-trees in a storm of wind, more impetuous 
than his action; and yet the Senate-house still 
stands, and (I thank God) we are all safe and well 
at your service. I was ready to sink for him, and 
scarce dared to look about me, when I was sure it 
was all over ; but soon found I might have spared 
my confusion; all people joined to applaud him. 
Every thing was quite right ; and I dare swear not 
three people here but think him a model of ora- 
tory ; for all the Duke's little court came with a 
resolution to be pleased ; and when the tone was 
once given, the university, who ever wait for the 
judgment of their betters, struck into it with an 
admirable harmony : for the rest of the perform- 
ances, they were just what they usually are. Every 
one, while it lasted, was very gay and very busy in 

* The Duke of Newcastle's installation as Chan 
cdlor of the University. 






MR. GRAY. 291 

the morning, and very owlish and very tipsy at 
night : I make no exceptions from the Chancellor 
to Blue-coat. Mason's Ode was the only entertain- 
ment that had any tolerable elegance ; and, for my 
own part, I think it (with some little abatements) 
uncommonly well on such an occasion. Pray let 
me know your sentiments ; for doubtless you have 
seen it. The author of it grows apace into my 
good graces, as I know him more ; he is very in- 
genious, with great good-nature and simplicity ; a 
little vain, but in so harmless and so comical a 
way, that it does not offend one at all; a little am- 
bitious, but with all so ignorant in the world and 
its ways, that this does not hurt him in one's opinion ; 
so sincere and so undisguised, that no mind, with 
a spark of generosity, would ever think of hurting 
him, he hies so open to injury; but so indolent, 
that if he cannot overcome this habit, all his good 
qualities will signify nothing at all. After all, I 
like him so well, I could wish you knew him. 



LETTER XII. 

MR. GRAY TO HIS MOTHER. 

Cambridge, Nov. 7> 1749* 
THE unhappy news I have just received from you 
equally surprises and afflicts me*. I have lost a 



* The death of his aunt, Mrs. Mary Antrobus, 
who died the 5th of November, and was buried in 
a vault in Stoke church-yard near the chancel 



292 MEMOIRS OF 

person I loved very much, and have been used to from 
my infancy ; but am much more concerned for your 
loss, the circumstances of which I forbear to dwell 
upon, as you must be too sensible of them your- 
self; and will, I fear, more and more need a con- 
solation that no one can give, except He who has 
preserved her to you so many years, and at last, 
when it was his pleasure, has taken her from us to 
himself: and perhaps, if we reflect upon what she 
felt in this life, we may look upon this as an in- 
stance of his goodness both to her, and to those 
that loved her. She might have languished many 
years before our eyes in a continual increase of 
pain, and totally helpless; she might have long 
wished to end her misery without being able to at- 
tain it; or perhaps even lost all sense, and yet 
continued to breathe; a sad spectacle to such as 
must have felt more for her than she could have 
done for herself. However you may deplore your 
own loss, yet think that she is at last easy and 
happy ; and has now more occasion to pity us than 
we her. I hope, and beg, you will support your- 
self with that resignation we owe to him, who 
gave us our being for our good, and who deprives 
us of it for the same reason. I would have come 
to you directly, but you do not say whether you 
desire I should or not; if you do, I beg I may 
know it, for there is nothing to hinder me, and I 
am in very good health. 



door, in which also his mother and himself (accord- 
ing to the direction in his will) were afterwards 
buried. 



MR. GRAY. %93 

LETTER XIII. 

MR. GRAY TO DR. WHARTON. 

Stoke, August 9, 1750. 
ARISTOTLE says (one may write Greek to you 
without scandal) that O* tokoi ov diaXvovcfi Try 
$0\iwj K7r\<x>s, a.\Koc tyjv hepysiav lav 5s ypovtog 
>7 ctirovaicx. ysvYjTai xa< rrjg <&i\{<x.g Soxe; ArjO^v 
Troieiv. o$ev eiprjTcxi 

TLo?*Aocg §ij tyiXiag ot7rpo<rriyopia. Siehvpev. 

But Aristotle may say whatever he pleases, I da 
not find myself at all the worse for it. I could 
indeed wish to refresh my *Evspysia. a little at 
Durham by the sight of you, but when is there a 
probability of my being so happy ? It concerned me 
greatly when I heard the other day that your 
asthma continued at times to afflict you, and that 
you were often obliged to go into the country to 
breathe ; you cannot oblige me more than by giving 
me an account both of the state of your body and 
mind : I hope the latter is able to keep you cheer- 
ful and easy in spite of the frailties of its compa- 
nion. As to my own, it can neither do one nor 
the other; and I have the mortification to find my 
spiritual part the most infirm thing about me. 
You have doubtless heard of the loss I have had in 
Dr. Middleton, whose house was the only easy 
place one could find to converse in at Cambridge : 
for my part I find a friend so uncommon a thing, 
that I cannot help regretting even an old acquaint- 
ance, which is an indifferent likeness of it; and 
though I do not approve the spirit of his books, 



294 MEMOIRS OF 

methinks 'tis pity the world should lose so rare a 
thing as a good writer*. 

My studies cannot furnish a recommendation of 
many new hooks to you. There is a defence ' d€ 
l'Esprit des Loix,' by Montesquieu himself; it has 
some lively things in it, but is very short, and his 
adversary appears to be so mean a bigot that he 
deserved no answer. There are 3 vols, in 4to. of 
* Histoire du Cabinet du Roy, by Messrs. Buffbns 
and d'Aubenton ;' the first is a man of character, 
but 1 am told has hurt it by this work. It is all a 
sort of introduction to natural history : the weak 
part of it is a love of system which runs through 
it; the most contrary thing in the world to a 
science entirely grounded upon experiments, and 
which has nothing to do with vivacity f of ima- 
gination. However I cannot help commending the 
general view which he gives of the face of the 
earth, followed by a particular one of all the known 
nations, their peculiar figure and manners, which is 
the best epitome of geography I ever met with, 
and written with sense and elegance ; in short, 
these books are well worth turning over. The 
Memoirs of the Abbe de Mongon, in 5 vols, are 
highly commended, but I have not seen them. He 
was engaged in several embassies to Germany, 
England, &c. during the course of the late war. 
The President Henault's 'Abrege Chronologique 
de 1' Histoire de France," I believe I have before 
mentioned to you as a very good book of its kind. 

* Mr. Gray used to say, that good writing not 
only required great parts, but the very best of 
those parts. 

f One cannot therefore help lamenting, that Mr, 
Gray let his imagination lie dormant so frequently, 
in order to apply himself to this very science* 



MR, GRAY.- 295 

About this time Mr. Gray had put his last hand 
to his celebrated Elegy in the Country Church-yard, 
and had communicated it to his friend Mr. Wal~ 
pole, whose good taste was too much charmed with 
it to suffer him to withhold the sight of it from 
his acquaintance ; accordingly it was shown about 
for some time in manuscript, (as Mr. Gray inti- 
mates in the subsequent letter to Dr. Wharton) 
and received with all the applause it so justly me- 
rited. Amongst the rest of the fashionable world 5 
for to these only it was at present communicated, 
Lady Cobham, who now lived at the mansion- 
house at Stoke-Pogis, had read and admired it^ 
She wished to be acquainted with the author ; ac- 
cordingly her relation Miss Speed and Lady 
Schaub, then at her house, undertook to bring this 
about by making him the first visit. He hap- 
pened to be from home, when the ladies arrived at 
his aunt's solitary mansion ; and, when he re- 
turned, was surprised to find, written on one of his 
papers in the parlour where he usually read, the 
following note: 'Lady Schaub's compliments to 
Mr. Gray ; she is sorry not to have found him at 
home, to tell him that Lady Brown is very well.' 
This necessarily obliged him to return the visit, 
and soon after induced him to compose a ludicrous 
account of this little adventure, for the amusement 
of the ladies in question. He wrote it in ballad 
measure, and entitled it a Long Story: when it 
was handed about in manuscript, nothing could be 
more various than the opinions concerning it ; by 
some it was thought a master-piece of original hu- 
mour, by others a wild and fantastic farrago ; and 
when it was published, the sentiments of good 
judges were equally divided about it. How it 
came to be printed I shall mention hereafter ; and 
also inform the reader why Mr. Gray rejected it 
in the collection which he himself made of his 
Poems : in the meanwhile, as I think it ought to 
have a place in these Memoirs, for reasons too ob= 



296 MEMOIRS OF 

vious to insist upon, I shall beg leave to preface it 
with my own idea of the author's peculiar vein of 
humour ; which, with my notes on the piece it- 
self, may perhaps account in some sort for the va- 
riety of opinions which people of acknowledged 
taste have formed concerning it. 

Mr. Gray had not (in my opinion) either in his 
conversation or writing much of what is called pure 
humour; it was always so much blended either 
with wit, fancy, or his own peculiar character, 
that it became equivocal, and hence not adapted 
to please generally : it had more of the manner of 
Congreve than Addison ; and we know where one 
person relishes my Lady Wishfort, there are thou- 
sands that admire Sir Roger de Coverley : it will 
not however from hence follow, that Lady Wishfort 
is ill drawn ; for my own part I think it one of the 
most entertaining characters that ever was written. 
I know, however, that it is commonly thought ex- 
travagant and unnatural ; and I believe it is true, 
that no woman ever existed who had so much folly 
and affectation, and at the same time so much wit 
and fancy ; yet every one sees that were this fancy 
and wit taken away, her character would become 
insipid, in proportion as it became more natural ; 
so that, in this and other instances, if Congreve's 
fools were fools indeed, they would, by being true 
characters, cease to be entertaining ones. It may 
be further observed on the subject of humour, that 
it may and ought to be divided into several species : 
there is one sort, that of Terence's, which simply 
pleases without forcing a smile ; another, like Mr. 
Addison's, which not only pleases, but makes us 
smile into the bargain. Shakspeare's, Swift's, Con- 
greve's, and Prior's usually goes further, and makes 
us laugh : I infer not from hence that this latter 
sort is the best : I only assert, that howsoever it 
may be mixed with other ingredients, it ought 
also to be called humour. The critic, however, 
who judges by rule, and who will not be pleased 



MR. GRAY. 297 

unless legitimately, will be apt to condemn this 
species of mixed humour ; and the common reader 
will not always have either wit or imagination 
enough to comprehend or taste it. But I have 
said Mr. Gray not only mixed wit and fancy with 
his humour, but also his own particular character ; 
and being naturally delicate, and at times even 
fastidious, his humour generally took the same 
cast; and would therefore be only relished by 
such of his friends, as, conscious of his superior 
excellencies, thought this defect not only par- 
donable but entertaining, which a character of this 
sort (being humorous in itself) always is, when it 
is not carried to any offensive extreme. Yet, as 
this observation relates only to his conversation 
and familiar letters, (for to these only it can be ap- 
plied) I have no occasion to insist on it further; 
and shall only add, that whatever the generality of 
readers may think of Mr. Gray's talent in this way, 
there will always be some, and those far from the 
lowest class, to whom it will appear excellent : for 
humour may be true, when it ceases to be pure or 
unmixed, if the ingredients which go to its com- 
position be true also. False wit and wild fancy 
would debase the best humour in the world, as 
they frequently do in Rabelais and Sterne (without 
taking more exceptionable matters into considera- 
tion) ; but when genuine, they serve to heighten 
and embellish it, 



298 MEMOIRS OF 



A LONG STORY. 



IN Britain's isle, no matter where, 
* An ancient pile of building stands : 

The Huntingdons and Hattons there 
Employ'd the pow'r of fairy hands 

To raise the ceiling's fretted height, 
Each pannel in achievements clothing, 

Rich windows that exclude the light, 
And passages, that lead to nothing. 

Full oft within the spacious walls, 
When he had fifty winters o'er him, 

t My grave lord-keeper led the brawls ; 
The seal arid maces danced before him. 

His bushy beard, and shoe-strings green, 
His high-crown'd hat, and satin doublet, 

Moved the stout heart of England's queen, 
Though Pope and Spaniard could not trouble it. 



* The mansion-house at Stoke-Pogis, then in 
the possession of Viscountess Cobham. The style 
of building, which we now call Queen Elizabeth's, 
is here admirably described, both with regard to 
its beauties and defects ; and the third and fourth 
stanzas delineate the fantastic manners of her time 
with equal truth and humour. The house formerly 
belonged to the Earls of Huntingdon and the family 
of Hatton. 

+ Sir Christopher Hatton, promoted by Queen 
Elizabeth for his graceful person and fine dancing. 
G. — Brawls were a sort of figure-dance, then in 
vogue, and probably deemed as elegant as our 
modern cotillions, or still more modern quadrilles. 



MR. GRAY. 299 

What, in the very first beginning ! 

Shame of the versifying tribe ! 
Your hist'ry whither are you spinning ! 

Can you do nothing but describe ? 

A house there is (and that's enough) 
From whence one fatal morning issues 

* A brace of warriors, not in buff, 
But rustling in their silks and tissues. 

The v first came cap-a-pie from France, 
Her conqu'ring destiny fulfilling, 

Whom meaner beauties eye askance, 
And vainly ape her art of killing. 

The other amazon kind heaven 
Had arm'd with spirit, wit, and satire : 

But Cobham had the polish giv'n, 
And tipp'd her arrows with good-nature. 

To celebrate her eyes, her air— 
Coarse panegyrics would but tease her. 

Melissa is her Nom de Guerre, 

Alas, who would not wish to please her ! 

With bonnet blue and capuehine, 
And aprons long they hid their armour, 

And veil'd their weapons bright and keen 
In pity to the country farmer. 

Fame in the shape of f Mr. P — t 
(By this time all the parish know it) 



* The reader is already apprised who these 
ladies were : the two descriptions are prettily con- 
trasted ; and nothing can be more happily turned 
than the compliment to Lady Cobham in the eighth 
stanza. 

t I have been told that this gentleman, a neigh- 
bour and acquaintance of Mr. Gray's in the country, 
was much displeased at the liberty here taken with 
his name ; yet, surely, without any great reason. 



300 MEMOIRS OF 

Had told, that thereabouts there lurk'd 
A wicked imp they call a poet : 

Who prowl'd the country far and near, 
Bewitch'd the children of the peasants, 

Dried up the cows, and lamed the deer, 
And suck'd the eggs, and kill'd the pheasants. 

My lady heard their joint petition, 

Swore by her coronet and ermine, 
She'd issue out her high commission 

To rid the manor of such vermin. 

The heroines undertook the task, 

Through lanes unknown, o'er stiles they ven- 
tured, 
Rapp'd at the door, nor stay'd to ask, 

But bounce into the parlour enter'd. 

The trembling family they daunt, 

They flirt, they sing, they laugh, they tattle. 
Rummage his mother, pinch his aunt, 

And up stairs in a whirlwind rattle. 

Each hole and cupboard they explore, 
Each creek and cranny of his chamber, 

Run hurry-skurry round the floor, 
And o'er the bed and tester clamber i 

Into the drawers and china pry, 
Papers and books, a huge imbroglio I 

Under a tea-cup he might lie, 
Or creased, like dogs-ears, in a folio. 

On the first marching of the troops, 

The Muses, hopeless of his pardon, 
Convey'd him underneath their hoops, 

To a small closet in the garden. 

So rumour says : (who will, believe.) 

But that they left the door a-jar, 
Where, safe and laughing in his sleeve, 

He heard the distant din of war. 



MR. GRAY. 301 

Short was his joy. He little knew 
The pow'r of magic was no fable ; 
Out of the window, whisk, they flew, 

* But left a spell upon the table. 

* Fancy is here so much blended with the hu- 
mour, that I believe the two stanzas which succeed 
this line are among those which are the least re- 
lished by the generality. The description of the 
spell, I know, lias appeared to many persons ab- 
solutely unintelligible ; yet if the reader adverts to 
that peculiar idea which runs through the whole, 
I imagine the obscurity complained of will be re- 
moved. An incident, we see, so slight as the 
simple matter of fact, required something like 
machinery to enliven it: accordingly the author 
chose, with propriety enough, to employ for that 
purpose those notions of witchcraft, ghosts, and 
enchantment, which prevailed at the time when 
the mansion-house was built. He describes him- 
self as a demon of the lowest class, a wicked imp 
who lamed the deer, &c. against whose malevolent 
power Lady Cobham (the Gloriana of the piece) 
employs two superior enchantresses. Congruity of 
imagery, therefore, required the card they left 
upon the table to be converted into a spell. Now 
all the old writers, on these subjects, are very 
minute in describing the materials of such talis- 
mans. Hence, therefore, his grotesque idea of a 
composition of transparent bird-lime, edged with 
invisible chains, in order to catch and draw him to 
the tribunal. Without going further for examples 
of this kind of imagery than the poet's own works , 
let me instance two passages of the serious kind, 
similar to this ludicrous one. In his ode, entitled 
the Bard, 

' Above, below, the rose of snow,' &e. 
And, again, in the Fatal Sisters, 

* See the griesly texture grow.' 



302 MEMOIRS OF 

The words too eager to unriddle, 

The poet felt a strange disorder : 
Transparent bird-lime form'd the middle, 

And chains invisible the border. 

So cunning was the apparatus, 

The powerful pot-hooks did so move him, 
That, will he, nill he, to the great-house 

He went, as if the devil drove him. 

* Yet on his way (no sign of grace, 
For folks in fear are apt to pray) 

To Phoebus he preferr'd his case, 
And begg'd his aid that dreadful day. 

The godhead would have back'd his quarrel ; 

But with a blush on recollection, 
Own'd, that his quiver and his laurel 

'Gainst four such eyes were no protection. 

The court was sate, the culprit there ; 

Forth from their gloomy mansions creeping 
f The Lady Janes and Joans repair, 

And from the gallery stand peeping : 



It must, however, be allowed, that no person can 
fully relish this burlesque, who is not much con- 
versant with the old romance-writers, and with the 
poets who formed themselves on their model. 

• The humour of this and the following stanza 
is more pure, and consequently more obvious. It 
might have been written by Prior, and the wit at 
the end is much in his best manner. 

f Here Fancy is again uppermost, and soars as 
high on her comic, as on another occasion she does 
on her lyric wing : for now a chorus of ghostly old 
women of quality come to give sentence on the 
culprit poet, just as the spirits of Cadwallo, Urien, 
and Hoel join the Bard in dreadful symphony to 
denounce vengeance on Edward I. The route of 
Fancy, we see, is the same both on the humorous 



MR. GRAY. 303 

Such as in silence of the night 

Come (sweep) along some winding entry, 
• (Styack has often seen the sight) 

Or at the chapel-door stand sentry : 

t In peaked hoods and mantles tarnish'd, 

Sour visages, enough to scare ye, 
High dames of honour once, that garnish'd 

The drawing-room of fierce Queen Mary. 

The peeress comes. The audience stare, 
And doff their hats with due submission: 

She curtsies, as she takes her chair, 
To all the people of condition. 

The bard, with many an artful fib, 

Had in imagination fenced him, 
Disproved the arguments of J Squib, 

And all that § Groom could urge against him. 

But soon his rhetoric forsook him, 

When he the solemn hall had seen^ 
A sudden fit of ague shook him, 

He stood as mute as poor |] Macleane. 

Yet something he was heard to mutter, 
' How in the park beneath an old tree 

(Without design to hurt the butter, 
Or any malice to the poultry), 



and sublime occasion. No wonder, therefore, if 
either of them should fail of being generally tasted. 

• The housekeeper. G. 

t The description is here excellent, and I should 
think would please universally. 

£ Groom of the chamber. G. 

§ The steward. G. 

|| A famous highwayman hanged the week before. 
G. — This stanza is of the sort where wit rather 
than fancy prevails, consequently much in Priori 



304 MEMOIRS OF 

He once or twice had penn'd a sonnet J 

Yet hoped, that he might save his bacon : 
Numbers would give their oaths upon it, 

He ne'er was for a conj'rer taken.' 
The ghostly prudes with *hagged face 

Already had condemn'd the sinner. 
My lady rose, and with a grace 

f She smiled, and bid him come to dinner. 
' Jesu-Maria ! Madam Bridget, 

Why, what can the viscountess mean ? 
(Cried the square-hoods in woful fidget) 

The times are alter'd quite and clean ! 
* Decorum's turn'd to mere civility ; 

Her air and all her manners show it. 
Commend me to her affability ! 

Speak to a commoner and poet !' 

[Here 500 stanzas are lost.~\ 
And so God save our noble king, 

And guard us from long-winded lubbers. 
That to eternity would sing, 

And keep my lady from her rubbers. 

* Hagged, i. e. the face of a witch or hag ; the 
epithet hagard has been sometimes mistaken, as 
conveying the same idea ; but it means a very dif- 
ferent thing, viz. wild and farouche, and is taken 
from an unreclaimed hawk, called an hagard; in 
which its proper sense the poet uses it finely on a 
sublime occasion : 

Cloth'd in the sable garb of woe, 
With hagard eyes the poet stood. 

Vide Ode 6th. 

t Here the story finishes; the exclamation of 
the ghosts which follows is characteristic of the 
Spanish manners of the age when they are supposed 
to have lived ; and the 500 stanzas, said to be lost, 
may be imagined to contain the remainder of their 
long-winded expostulation. 



MR. GRAY. 305 



LETTER XIV. 

MR. GRAY TO DR. WHARTON. 

Dec. 17, 1750. 
OF my house I cannot say much *, I wish I could ; 
but for my heart it is no less yours than it has 
long been ; and the last thing in the world that 
will throw it into tumults is a fine lady. The 
verses, you so kindly try to keep in countenance, 
were written merely to divert Lady Cobham and 
her family, and succeeded accordingly; but being 
showed about in town are not liked there at all. 
Mrs. * * *, a very fashionable personage, told Mr. 
Walpole that she had seen a thing by a friend of 
his which she did not know what to make of, for it 
aimed at every thing, and meant nothing ; to 
which he replied, that he had always taken her for 
a woman of sense, and was very soriy to be un- 
deceived. On the other hand, the stanzas f which 
I now inclose to you have had the misfortune, by 
Mr. Walpole's fault, to be made still more public, 
for which they certainly were ne-rer meant ; but it 
is too late to complain. They have been so ap- 
plauded, it is quite a shame to repeat it : I mean 
not to be modest ; but it is a shame for those 
who have said such superlative things about them, 
that I cannot repeat them. I should have been 
glad that you and two or three more people had 
liked them, which would have satisfied my am- 
bition on this head amply. I have been this month 
in town, not at Newcastle-house; but diverting 
myself among my gay acquaintance, and return to 

* The house he was rebuilding in Cornhill. 
See Letter VII. of this Section. 
t Elegy in a Country Church-yard. 



306 MEMOIRS OF 

my cell with so much the more pleasure. I dare 
not speak of my future excursion to Durham for 
fear of a disappointment, but at present it is my 
full intention. 



LETTER XV. 

MR. GRAY TO MR. WALPOLE. 

Cambridge, Feb. U, 1751. 
AS you have brought me into a little sort of dis- 
tress, you must assist me, I believe, to get out of 
it as well as I can. Yesterday I had the misfortune 
of receiving a letter from certain gentlemen (as their 
bookseller expresses it), who have taken the Maga- 
zine of Magazines into their hands : they tell me 
that an ingenious poem, called reflections in a 
Country Church-yard, has been communicated to 
them, which they are printing forthwith ; that 
they are informed that the excellent author of it is 
I by name, and that they beg not only his in- 
dulgence, but the honour of his correspondence, 
&c« As I am not at all disposed to be either so 
indulgent, or so correspondent, as they desire, I 
have but one bad way left to escape the honour 
they would inflict up©n me; and therefore am 
obliged to desire you would make Dodsley print it 
immediately (which may be done in less than a 
week's time) from your copy, but without my 
name, in what form is most convenient for him, 
but on his best paper and character ; he must cor- 
rect the press himself, and print it without any in- 
terval between the stanzas, because the sense is in 
some places continued beyond them ; and the title 
must be, — Elegy, written in a Country Church- 
yard. If he would add a line or two to say it 



MR. GRAY. 307 

came into his hands by accident, I should like it 
better. If you behold the Magazine of Magazines 
in the light that I do, you will not refuse to give 
yourself this trouble on my account, which you 
have taken of your own accord before now. If 
Dodsley do not do this immediately, he may as 
well let it alone. 



LETTER XVI. 

MR. GRAY TO DR. WHARTON. 

Dec. 19, 1752, 
HAVE you read Madame de Maintenon's letters ? 
They are undoubtedly genuine ; they begin very 
early in her life, before she married Searron, and 
continue after the king's death to within a little 
while of her own: they bear all the marks of a 
noble spirit (in her adversity particularly) of virtue 
and unaffected devotion; insomuch, that I am 
almost persuaded she was actually married to Lewis 
XVI. and never his mistress : and this not out 
of any policy or ambition, but conscience ; for she 
was what we should call a bigot, yet with great 
good sense : in short, she was too good for a court. 
Misfortunes in the beginning of her life had formed 
her mind (naturally lively and impatient) to re- 
flection and a habit of piety. She was always 
miserable while she had the care of Madame 
de Montespan's children; timid and very cautious 
of making use of that unlimited power she rose to 
afterwards, for fear of trespassing on the king's 
friendship for her ; and after his death not at all 
afraid of meeting her own. 

I do not know what to say to you with regard 



308 MEMOIRS OF 

to Racine ; it sounds to me as if any body should 
fall upon Shakspeare, who indeed lies infinitely 
more open to criticism of all kinds ; but I should 
not care to be the person that undertook it. If 
you do not like Athaliah or Britannicus, there is 
no more to be said. I have done. 

Bishop Hall's satires, called Virgidemise, are 
lately republished. They are full of spirit and 
poetry ; as much of the first as Dr. Donne, and far 
more of the latter : they were written at the uni- 
versity when he was about twenty-three years old, 
and in Queen Elizabeth's time. 

You do not say whether you have read the 
Crito *. I only recommend the dramatic part of 
the Phasdo to you, not the argumentative. The 
subject of the Erastas is good : it treats of that pe- 
culiar character and turn of mind which belongs 
to a true philosopher, but it is shorter than one 
would wish. The Euthyphro I would not read 
at all. 



LETTER XVII. 

MR. GRAY TO MR. WALPOLE. 

Stoke, Jan. 1753. 
I AM at present at Stoke, to which place I came 
at half an hour's warning upon the news I received 
of my mother's illness, and did not expect to have 
found her alive; but when I arrived she was much 
better, and continues so. I shall therefore be very 
glad to make you a visit at Strawberry-Hill, when- 
ever you give me notice of a convenient time. I 



Of Plato. 



MR. GRAY. 309 

am surprised at the print*, which far surpasses my 
idea of London graving : the drawing itself was so 
finished, that I suppose it did not require all the 
art I had imagined to copy it tolerably. My aunts 
seeing me open your letter, took it to be a burying- 
ticket, and asked whether any body had left me a 
ring ; and so they still conceive it to be, even with 
all their spectacles on. Heaven forbid they should 
suspect it to belong to any verses of mine ; they 
would burn me for a poet. On my own part I am 
satisfied, if this design of yours succeed so well as 
you intend it ; and yet I know it will be accom- 
panied with something not at all agreeable to me. 
— While I write this, I receive your second letter. 
— Sure, you are not out of your wits ! This I 
know, if you suffer my head to be printed, you 
will infallibly put me out of mine. I conjure you 
immediately to put a stop to any such design. 
Who is at the expense of engraving it, I know not ; 
but if it be Dodsley, I will make up the loss to 
him. The thing as it was, I know, will make me 
ridiculous enough ; but to appear in proper person, 
at the head of my works, consisting of half a dozen 
ballads in thirty pages, would be worse than the 

t A proof print of the Cul de Lampe, which Mr. 
Bentley designed for the Elegy in a Country 
Church-yard, and which represents a village-fu- 
neral ; this occasioned the pleasant mistake of his 
two aunts. The remainder of the letter relates en- 
tirely to the projected publication of Mr. Bentley's 
designs, which were printed after by Dodsley this 
same year. The latter part of it, where he so ve- 
hemently declares against having his head prefixed 
to that work, will appear highly characteristical to 
those readers who were personally acquainted with 
Mr. Gray. The print, which was taken from an 
original picture, painted by Echart, in Mr. Wal- 
pole's possession, was actually more than half en- 
graved ; but afterwards on this account suppressed. 



310 MEMOIRS OF 

pillory. I do assure you, if I had received such a 
book, with such a frontispiece, without any warn- 
ing, I believe it would have given me a palsy: 
therefore I rejoice to have received this notice, 
and shall not be easy till you tell me all thoughts 
of it are laid aside. I am extremely in earnest, 
and cannot bear even the idea. 

I had written to Dodsley if I had not received 
yours, to tell him how little I liked the title which 
he meant to prefix ; but your letter has put all 
that out of my head. If you think it necessary to 
print these explanations * for the use of people that 
have no eyes, I should be glad they were a little 
altered. I am, to my shame, in your debt for a 
long letter ; but I cannot think of any thing else 
till you have set me at ease on this matter. 



While Mr. Bentley was employed in making the 
designs mentioned in the preceding letter, Mr. 
Gray, who greatly admired not only the elegance 
of his fancy, but also the neatness as well as facility 
of his execution, began a complimentary poem to 
him, which I shall now insert. Many readers will 
perhaps think the panegyric carried too far ; as I 
own I did when he first showed it me. Yet it is 
but justice to declare, that the original drawings, 
now in Mr. Walpole's possession, which I have 
since seen, are so infinitely superior to the published 
engravings of them, that a person who has only 
seen the latter can by no means judge of the ex- 
cellencies of the former : besides, there is so much 
of grotesque fancy in the designs themselves, that 
it can be no great matter of wonder (even if the en- 

* See the above-mentioned designs, where the 
explanations here alluded to are inserted. 






MR, GRAY. 311 

gravers had done justice to them) that they failed 
to please universally. What I have said in defence 
of the Long Story might easily be applied to these 
productions of the sister art: but not to detain 
the reader from the perusal of a fragment, many 
stanzas of which are equal in poetical merit to the 
best in his most finished poems, I shall here only 
add, that it was for the sake of the design which 
Mr. Bentley made for the Long Story, that Mr. 
Gray permitted it to be printed ; yet not without 
clearly foreseeing that he risked somewhat by the 
publication of it, as he intimate's in the preceding 
letter: and indeed the event showed his judgment 
to be true in this particular, as it proved the least 
popular of all his productions. 



STANZAS TO MR. BENTLEY. 



IN silent gaze the tuneful choir among. 
Half pleased, half blushing let the Muse admire , 

While Bentley leads her sister art along, 
And bids the pencil answer to the lyre. 

See, in their course, each transitory thought 
Fix'd by his touch a lasting essence take ; 

Each dream, in fancy's airy colouring wrought, 
To local symmetry and life awake ! 

The tardy rhymes that used to linger on, 
To censure cold, and negligent of fame, 

In swifter measures animated run, 
And catch a lustre from his genuine flame. 

Ah ! could they catch his strength, his easy grace, 
His quick creation, his unerring line ; 

The energy of Pope they might efface., 
And Dryden's harmony submit to mine. 



312 MEMOIRS OF 

But not to one in this benighted age 

Is that diviner inspiration giv'n, 
That burns in Shakspeare's or in Milton's page, 

The pomp and prodigality of heav'n. 

As when conspiring in the diamond's blaze, 

The meaner gems, that singly charm the sight, 

Together dart their intermingled rays, 
And dazzle with a luxury of light. 

* Enough for me, if to some feeling breast 
My lines a secret sympathy impart ; 

And as their pleasing influence flows confest, 
A sigh of soft reflection heave the heart. 



In the March following Mr. Gray lost that 
mother for whom, on all occasions, we have seen 
he showed so tender a regard. She was buried in 
the same vault where her sister's remains had been 
deposited more than three years before. As the 
inscription on the tomb-stone (at least the latter 
part of it) is undoubtedly of Mr. Gray's writing, it 
here would claim a place, even if it had not a pe- 
culiar pathos to recommend it, and, at the same 
time, a true inscriptive simplicity. 

* A corner of the only manuscript copy which 
Mr. Gray left of this fragment is unfortunately 
torn; and though I have endeavoured to supply 
the chasm, I am not quite satisfied with the words 
which I have inserted in the third line. I print 
my additions in italics, and shall be much pleased 
if any reader finds a better supplement to this im- 
perfect stanza. 



MR. GRAY. 313 

IN THE VAULT BENEATH ARE DEPOSITED, 

IN HOPE OF A JOYFUL RESURRECTION, 

THE REMAINS OF 

MARY ANTROBUS. 

SHE DIED, UNMARRIED, NOV. V. MDCCXLIX. 

AGED LXVI. 

IN THE SAME PIOUS CONFIDENCE, 

BESIDE HER FRIEND AND SISTER, 

HERE SLEEP THE REMAINS OF 

DOROTHY GRAY, 

WIDOW, THE CAREFUL TENDER MOTHER 

OF MANY CHILDREN, ONE OF WHOM ALONE 

HAD THE MISFORTUNE TO SURVIVE HER. 

SHE DIED MARCH XI. MDCCLIII. 

AGED LXVII. 



LETTER XVIII. 

MR. GRAY TO MR. MASON. 

Durham, Dec. 26, 1753. 
A LITTLE while before I received your melan- 
choly letter, I had been informed by Mr. Charles 
Avison of one of the sad events you mention *. I 
know what it is to lose persons that one's eyes and 
heart have long been used to ; and I never desire 
to part with the remembrance of that loss, nor 
would wish you should. It is something that you 

* The death of my father, and of Dr. Marma- 
duke Pricket, a young physician of my own age, 
with whom I was brought up from infancy, who 
died of the same infectious fever. 

P 



314 MEMOIRS OF 

had a little time to acquaint yourself with the idea 
beforehand ; and that your father suffered but little 
pain, the only thing that makes death terrible. 
After I have said this, I cannot help expressing my 
surprise at the disposition he has made of his affairs. 
I must (if you will suffer me to say so) call it 
great weakness ; and yet perhaps your affliction 
for him is heightened by that very weakness ; for 
I know it is possible to feel an additional sorrow 
for the faults of those we have loved, even where 
that fault has been greatly injurious to ourselves. 
— Let me desire you not to expose yourself to any 
further danger in the midst of that scene of sick- 
ness and death ; but withdraw as soon as possible 
to some place at a little distance in the country; 
for I do not, in the least, like the situation 
you are in. I do not attempt to console you on 
the situation your fortune is left in ; if it were far 
worse, the good opinion I have of you tells me, 
you will never the sooner do any thing mean or 
unworthy of yourself ; and consequently I cannot 
pity you on this account, but I sincerely do on the 
new loss you have had of a good and friendly man , 
whose memory I honour. I have seen the scene 
you describe, and know how dreadful it is : I know 
too I am the better for it. We are all idle and 
thoughtless things, and have no sense, no use in 
the world any longer than that sad impression 
lasts ; the deeper it is engraved the better. 



MR. GRAY. $15 



LETTER XIX. 

MR. GRAY TO DR. WHARTON. 

Stoke, Sept. 18, 1754. 
I AM glad you enter into the spirit of Strawberry- 
Castle ; it has a purity and propriety of Gothicisra 
in it (with very few exceptions) that I have not 
seen elsewhere. My Lord Radnor's vagaries I see 
did not keep you from doing justice to his situation, 
which far surpasses every thing near it; and I do 
not know a more laughing scene than that about 
Twickenham and Richmond. Dr. Akenside, I 
perceive, is no conjurer in architecture ; especially 
when he talks of the ruins of Persepolis, which are 
no more Gothic than they are Chinese. The 
Egyptian style (see Dr. Pococke, not his discourses, 
but his prints) was apparently the mother of the 
Greek ; and there is such a similitude between the 
Egyptian and those Persian ruins, as gave Diodorus 
room to affirm, that the old buildings of Persia 
were certainly performed by Egyptian artists : as 
to the other part of your friend's opinion, that the 
Gothic manner is the Saracen or Moorish, he has 
a great authority to support him, that of Sir 
Christopher Wren ; and yet I cannot help thinking 
it undoubtedly wrong. The palaces in Spain I 
never saw but in description, which gives us little 
or no idea of things; but the Doge's palace at 
Venice I have seen, which is in the Arabesque 
manner : and the houses of Barbary you may see 
in Dr. Shaw's book, not to mention abundance of 
other Eastern buildings in Turkey, Persia, &c. 
that we have views of; and they seem plainly to 
be corruptions of the Greek architecture, broke 
into little parts indeed, and covered with little 



316 MEMOIRS OF 

ornaments, but in a taste very distinguishable from 
that which we call Gothic. There is one thing 
that runs through the Moorish buildings that an 
imitator would certainly have been first struck 
with, and would have tried to copy; and that is 
the cupolas which cover every thing, baths, apart- 
ments, and even kitchens; yet who ever saw a 
Gothic cupola? It is a thing plainly of Greek 
original. I do not see any thing but the slender 
spires that serve for steeples, which may perhaps 
be borrowed from the Saracen minarets on their 
mosques. 

I take it ill you should say aiiy thing against the 
Mole ; it is a reflection I see cast at the Thames. 
Do you think that rivers, which have lived in 
London and its neighbourhood all their days, will 
run roaring and tumbling about like your tra- 
montane torrents in the North ? No, they only 
glide and whisper. 



LETTER XX. 



MR. GRAY TO DR. WHARTON. 

Cambridge, March 9, 1755. 
I DO not pretend to humble any one's pride; I 
love my own too well to attempt it. As to mortify- 
ing their vanity, it is too easy and too mean a task 
for me to delight in. You are very good in show- 
ing so much sensibility on my account; but be 
assured my taste for praise is not like that of 
children for fruit; if there were nothing but 
medlars and blackberries in the world, I could be 
very well content to go without any at all. I dare 
say that Mason, though some years younger than 
I, was as little elevated with the approbation of 



MR. GRAY. 317 

Lord * * and Lord * *, as I am mortified by their 
silence. 

With regard to publishing, I am not so much 
against the thing itself, as of publishing this ode 
alone *. I have two or three ideas more in my 
head ; what is to come of them ? Must they too 
come out in the shape of little sixpenny flams, 
dropping one after another till Mr. Dodsley thinks 
fit to collect them with Mr. This's song, and Mr. 
Tother's epigram, into a pretty volume ? I am 
sure Mason must be sensible of this, and therefore 
cannot mean what he says ; neither am I quite of 
your opinion with regard to strophe and anti- 
strophe t; setting aside the difficulty of execution, 
methinks it has little or no effect on the ear, 
which scarce perceives the regular return of metres 

* His ode on the Progress of Poetry. 

t He often made the same remark to me in con- 
versation, which led me to form the last ode of 
Caractacus in shorter stanzas: but we must not 
imagine that he thought the regular Pindaric 
method without its use ; though, as he justly says, 
when formed in long stanzas, it does not fully suc- 
ceed in point of effect on the ear : for there was 
nothing which he more disliked than that chain of 
irregular stanzas which Cowley introduced, and 
falsely called Pindaric; and which, from the ex- 
treme facility of execution, produced a number of 
miserable imitators. Had the regular return of 
strophe, antistrophe, and epode no other merit than 
that of extreme difficulty, it ought, on this very 
account, to be valued ; because we well know that 
1 easy writing is no easy reading.' It is also to be 
remarked, that Mr. Congreve, who (though with- 
out any lyrical powers) first introduced the regular 
Pindaric form into the English language, made use 
of the short stanzas which Mr. Gray here recom- 
mends. — See his Ode to the Queen: Works, vol. 
III. p. 438. Ed. Birm. 



318 MEMOIRS OF 

at so great a distance from one another : to make 
it succeed, I am persuaded the stanzas must not 
consist of above nine lines each at the most. Pindar 
has several such odes. 



Mr. Gray intimates, in the foregoing letter, that 
he had two or three more lyrical ideas in his head : 
one of these was the Baku, the exordium of which 
was at this time finished; I say finished, because 
his conceptions, as well as his manner of disposing 
them, were so singularly exact, that he had seldom 
occasion to make many, except verbal emendations, 
after he had first committed his lines to paper. It 
was never his method to sketch his general design 
in careless verse * ; he always finished as he pro- 

* I have many of his critical letters by me on 
my own compositions ; letters which, though they 
would not much amuse the public in general, con- 
tain excellent lessons for young poets : from one of 
these I extract the following passage, which seems 
to explain this matter more fully : « Extreme con- 
ciseness of expression, yet pure, perspicuous, and 
musical, is one of the grand beauties of lyric poetry : 
this I have always aimed at, and never could attain. 
The necessity of rhyming is one great obstacle to 
it: another, and perhaps a stronger, is that way 
you have chosen, of casting down your first thoughts 
carelessly and at large, and then clipping them here 
and there at leisure. This method, after all pos- 
sible pains, will leave behind it a laxity, a diffuse- 
ness. The frame of a thought (otherwise well- 
invented, well-turned, and well-placed), is often 
weakened by it. Do I talk nonsense ? Or do you 
understand me ? I am persuaded what I say is true 
in my head, whatever it may be in prose ; for I do 
not pretend to write prose.' Nothing can be more 



MR. GRAY. 3L9 

ceeded; this, though it made his execution slow, 
made his compositions more perfect. I think, 
however, that this method was only calculated to 
produce such short works as generally employed 
his poetical pen ; and that from pursuing it, he 
grew tired of his larger designs before he had com- 
pleted them. The fact seems to justify my opinion. 
But my principal reason for mentioning this at 
present, is to explain the cause why I have not 

just than this remark: yet, as I say above, it is a 
mode of writing which is only calculated for smaller 
compositions : but Mr. Gray, though he applied it 
here to an ode, was apt to think it a general rule. 
Now if an epic or dramatic poet were to resolve to 
finish every part of his work as highly as we have 
seen Mr. Gray laboured his first scene of Agrippina, 
I am apt to think he would tire of it as soon as our 
author did ; for in the course of so multifarious a 
work, he would find himself obliged to expunge 
some of the best written parts, in order to preserve 
the unity of the whole. I know only one way to 
prevent this, and that was the method which Ra- 
cine followed; who (as his son tells us, in that 
amusing life, though much zested with bigotry, 
which he has given us of his father) when he began 
a drama, disposed every part of it accurately in 
prose ; and when he had connected all the scenes 
together, used to say, ' Ma tragedie est faite.' (See 
La Vie de Jean Racine, p. 117. See also his son's 
other works, torn. 2d, for a specimen in the first 
act of the ' Iphigenia in Tauris.' M. Racine, it 
seems, was an easy versifier in a language in which, 
they say, it is more difficult than in ours to versify. It 
certainly is so with regard to dramatic compositions . 
I am on this account persuaded, that if the great 
poet had written in English, he would have drawn 
out his first sketches, not in prose, but in careless 
blank verse; yet this I give as mere matter of 
opinion. 



MEMOIRS OF 

been scrupulous in publishing so many of his frag- 
ments in the course of these Memoirs. It would 
have been unpardonable in me to have taken this 
liberty with a deceased friend, had I not found his 
lines, as far as they went, nearly as high finished 
bey would have been, when completed: if I am 
mistaken in this, I hope the reader will rather im- 
pute it to a defect in my own judgment than a 
want of respect to Mr. Grays memory. 

This consideration, however, emboldens me to 
print the following fragment of an ode in this 
place, which was unquestionably another of the 
ideas alluded to in the preceding letter : since I find 
in his memorandum-book, of the preceding year 
1754, a sketch of his design as follows : ' Contrast 
een the winter past and coming spring. — Joy 
owing to that vicissitude. — Many who never feel 
that delight. — Sloth. — Envy-. — Ambition. How 
much happier the rustic who feels it, though he 
knows not how.' I print this careless note, in . 
order that the reader may conceive the intended 
argument of the whole; who, I doubt not, will, 
on perusing the following beautiful stanzas, lament 
with me that he left it incomplete; nor will it 
console him for the loss, if I tell him that I have 
had the boldness to attempt to finish it myself, 
making use of some other lines and broken stanzas 
which he had written : but as my aim in under- 
taking this difficult task was merely to elucidate 
the poet's general meaning, I did not think that 
my additions were worthy to be inserted in this 
place ; they have found a more fit situation by 
being thrown amongst those notes which I have 
put at the end of the volume. 



MR. GRAY. 321 



ODE, 



NOW the golden Morn aloft 
Waves her dew-bespangled wing, 
With vermil cheek, and whisper soft 
She wooes the tardy Spring : 
Till April starts, and calls around 
The sleeping fragrance from the ground; 
And lightly o'er the living scene 
Scatters his freshest, tenderest green. 

New-born flocks, in rustic dance, 
Frisking ply their feeble feet ; 
Forgetful of their wintry trance 
The birds his presence greet : 
But chief, the sky-lark warbles high 
His trembling thrilling ecstacy; 
And, lessening from the dazzled sight, 
Melts into air and liquid light. 

Yesterday the sullen year 
Saw the snowy whirlwind fly ; 
Mute was the music of the air, 
The herd stood drooping by : 
Their raptures now that wildly flow, 
No yesterday, nor morrow know ; 
; Tis man alone that joy descries 
With forward, and reverted eyes. 

Smiles on past Misfortune's brow, 
Soft Reflection's hand can trace ; 
And o'er the cheek of Sorrow throw 
A melancholy grace : 
While hope prolongs our happier hour - r 
Or deepest shades, that dimly lower 
And blacken round our weary way, 
Gilds with a gleam of distant day. 



2 MEMOIRS OF 

Still, where rosy Pleasure leads, 
See a kindred Grief pursue ; 
Behind the steps that Misery treads 
Approaching Comfort view : 
The hues of bliss more brightly glow, 
Chastised by sabler tints of woe ; 
And blended form, with artful strife, 
The strength and harmony of life. 

See the wretch, that long has tost 
On the thorny bed of pain, 
At length repair his vigour lost, 
And breathe, and walk again : 
The meanest floweret of the vale, 
The simplest note that swells the gale, 
The common sun, the air, the skies, 
To him are opening Paradise. 



A third of these ideas I find in his common- 
place book, on the same page with his argument 
for the Bard*. I do not believe that he ever 
even began to compose the ode itself; but the 
thought is as follows : 

" All that men of power can do for men of 
genius is to leave them at their liberty, compared 
to birds that, when confined to a cage, do but 
regret the loss of their freedom in melancholy 
strains, and lose the luscious wildness and happy 
luxuriance of their notes, which used to make the 
woods resound.' 

Those who are conversant in the arrangement of 
a lyrical composition will easily perceive, from 
this short argument, that the ode would have 
opened with the simile ; which, when adorned with 
those thoughts that breathe and words that burn, 
that Mr. Gray's muse could so richly supply, 

* I have inserted this, with some remarks upon 
it, in my additional notes o his poems. 



MR. GRAY. 323 

would have been at once a fine exordium, and at 
the same time a natural introduction to the truth 
he meant to impress. This, however, could hardly 
have been done without some little aid borrowed 
from satire : for however true his proposition may 
be, that ( all that men of power can do for men of 
genius is to leave them at liberty ;' or, as I should 
put it, ' that their best patronage signifies nothing 
if it abridges them of that liberty;' yet the fact is, 
that neither of the parties are convinced of this 
truth till they have tried the experiment, and find 
some reason or other (no matter whether good 
or bad) to think they had better never have tried 
it. Mons. d'Alembert, who has written an excel- 
lent essay on this subject, which Mr. Gray greatly 
admired, and which perhaps gave him the first 
idea of this intended ode, puts one of the more 
common of these reasons in so lively a manner, 
that it may not be amiss here to insert it. 

' Parmi les grands seigneurs les plus affables il 
en est peu qui se depouillent avec des gens de 
lettres de leur grandeur, vraie ou pretendue, 
jusqu'au point de l'oublier tout-a-fait. C'est ce 
qu'on appercoit sur tout dans les conversations, ou 
Ton n'est pas de leur avis. II semble qu'a mesure 
que I'homme d'esprit s'eclipse, l'homme de qualite 
se montre; et paroisse exiger la deference dont 
l'homme d'esprit avoit commence par dispenser, 
Aussi le commerce intime des grands avec les gens 
de lettres ne finit que trop souvent par quelque 
rupture eclatante ; rupture qui vient presque tou- 
jours de l'oubli des regards reciproques auxquelles 
on a manque de part ou d'autre, peut etre meme 
des deux c6tes*.' However, I think a man of 
letters ought to have other reasons besides this for 



* Essai sur la Societe des Grands, avec les Gens 
de Lettres ; ' Melanges de Litterature et Philo- 
sophies torn. 2d, p. 134* 



324 MEMOIRS OF 

breaking such a connexion after it has been once 
formed. 

I have now given the reader the best account in 
my power of what our author's unfinished lyrical 
ideas consisted i I believe they are all that he in 
any sort committed to paper, and probably those 
which he immediately alluded to in the preceding 
letter. 



LETTER XXL 

MR. GRAY TO MR. STONHEWER *. 

August 21, 1755. 
I THANK you for your intelligence about Her- 
culaneum, which was the first news I received of 
it. I have since turned over Monsignor Baiardi's 
bookt, where I have learned how many grains of 
modern wheat the Roman Congius, in the Capitol, 
holds, and how many thousandth parts of an inch 
the Greek foot consisted of more (or less, for I 
forgot which) than our own. He proves also by 
many affecting examples, that an antiquary may 



* Now Auditor of Excise. His friendship with 
Mr. Gray commenced at College, and continued 
till the death of the latter. 

t I believe the book here ridiculed was published 
by the authority of the King of Naples But af- 
terwards, on finding how ill qualified the author 
was to execute the task, the business of describing 
the antiquities found at Herculaneum was put 
into other hands; who have certainly, as far as 
they have gone, performed it much better. 



MR. GRAY. 325 

be mistaken : that, for any thing any body knows, 
this place under-ground might be some other place, 
and not Herculaneum; but nevertheless, that he 
can show for certain, that it was this place and no 
other place ; that it is hard to say which of the 
several Hercules's was the founder; therefore (in 
the third volume) he promises to give us the me- 
moirs of them all ; and after that, if we do not 
know what to think of the matter, he will tell us. 
There is a great deal of wit too, and satire and 
verses, in the book, which is intended chiefly for 
the information of the French King, who will be 
greatly edified without doubt. 

I am much obliged to you also for Voltaire's 
performance ; it is very unequal, as he is apt to be 
in all but his dramas, and looks like the work of a 
man that will admire his retreat and his Leman- 
Lake no longer than till he finds an opportunity to 
leave it*: however, though there be many parts 
which I do not like, yet it is in several places ex- 
cellent, and every where above mediocrity. As 
you have the politeness to pretend impatience, and 
desire I would communicate, and all that, I annex 
a piece of the prophecy t: which must be true at 
least, as it was wrote so many hundred years after 
the events. 

* I do not recollect the title of this poem, but 
it was a small one which M. de Voltaire wrote 
when he first settled at Ferney. By the long re- 
sidence he has since made there, it appears either 
that our author was mistaken in his conjecture, or 
that an opportunity of leaving it had not yet hap- 
pened. 

t The second antistrophe and epode, with a few 
lines of the third strophe of his ode, entitled the 
Bard, were here inserted. 



o<26 MEMOIRS OF 



LETTER XXII. 

MR. GRAY TO DR. WHARTON. 

Pembroke-Hall, March 25, 1756. 
THOUGH I had no reasonable excuse for myself 
before I received your last letter, yet since that 
time I have had a pretty good one; having been 
taken up in quarrelling with Peter-house*, and in 
removing myself from thence to Pembroke. This 
may be looked upon as a sort of aera in a life so 
barren of events as mine; yet I shall treat it in 
Voltaire's manner, and only tell you that I left my 
lodgings because the rooms were noisy, and the 
people of the house uncivil. This is all I would 
choose to have said about it ; but if you in private 
should be curious enough to enter into a particular 
detail of facts and minute circumstances, the 
bearer, who was witness to them, will probably sa- 

* The reason of Mr. Gray's changing his Col- 
lege, which is here only glanced at, was in few 
words this : Two or three young men of fortune, 
who lived in the same staircase, had for some time 
intentionally disturbed him with their riots,, and 
carried their ill behaviour so far as frequently to 
awaken him at midnight. After having borne with 
their insults longer than might reasonably have 
been expected even from a man of less warmth of 
temper, Mr. Gray complained to the governing 
part of the society ; and not thinking that his re- 
monstrance was sufficiently attended to, quitted 
the College. The slight manner in which he men- 
tions this affair, when writing to one of his most 
intimate friends, certainly does honour to the pla- 
cability of his disposition. 



MR. GRAY. 327 

tisfy you. All I shall say more is, that I am for 
the present extremely well lodged here, and as 
quiet as in the Grand Chartreuse ; and that every 
body (even Dr. Long himself) are as civil as they 
could be to * Mary of Valens in person. 

With regard to any advice I can give you about 
your being physician to the hospital, I frankly own 
it ought to give way to a much better judge, espe- 
cially so disinterested a one as Dr. Heberden. I 
love refusals no more than you do. But as to 
your fears of effluvia, I maintain that one sick rich 
patient has more of pestilence and putrefaction 
about him than a whole ward of sick poor. 

The similitude between the Italian Republics 
and those of Ancient Greece has often struck me, 
as it does you. I do not wonder that Sully's Me- 
moirs have highly entertained you; but cannot 
agree with you in thinking him or his master two 
of the best men in the world. The king was in- 
deed one of the best-natured men that ever lived ; 
,but it is owing only to chance that his intended 
marriage with Madame d'Estrees, or with the 
Marquise de Verneuil, did not involve him and the 
kingdom in the most inextricable confusion ; and 
his design upon the Princess of Conde (in his old 
age) was worse still. As to the minister, his base 
application to Concini, after the murder of Henry, 
has quite ruined him in my esteem, and destroyed 
all the merit of that honest surly pride for which I 
honoured him before; yet I own that, as kings 
and ministers go, they were both extraordinary 
men. Pray look at the end of Birch's State Papers 
of Sir J. Edmonds, for the character of the French 
court at that time; it is written by Sir George 
Carew. 

You should have received Mason's present t last 

* Foundress of the College, 
t The four Odes which I had just published se- 
parately. 



328 MEMOIRS OF 

Saturday. I desire you to tell me your critical 
opinion of the New Odes, and also whether you 
have found out two lines which he has inserted in 
his third to a friend, which are superlative*. 
We do not expect the world, which is just going to 
be invaded, will bestow much attention on them ; 
if you hear any thing, you will tell us. 



LETTER XXIII. 



MR. GRAY TO DR. WHARTON. 

June 14, 1756. 
THOUGH I allow abundance for your kindness 
and partiality to me, I am yet much pleased with 
the good opinion you seem to have of the Bard : I 
have not, however, done a word more than the 
little you have seen, having been in a very listless, 
unpleasant, and inutile state of mind for this long 



* I should leave the reader to guess (if he thought 
it worth his while) what this couplet was, which is 
here commended so much beyond its merit, did 
not the ode conclude with a compliment to Mr. 
Gray, in which part he might probably look for it, 
as those lines were written with the greater care. 
To secure, therefore, my friend from any imputa- 
tion of vanity, whatever becomes of myself, I shall 
here insert the passage. 

While through the west, where sinks the crimson 

day, 
Meek Twilight slowly sails, and waves her banners 

gray. 



MR. GRAY. 329 

time, for which I shall beg you to prescribe me 
somewhat strengthening and agglutinant, lest it 
turn to a confirmed phthisis, 

I recommend two little French books to you, 
one called Memoires de M. de la Porte ; it has all 
the air of simplicity and truth, and contains some 
few very extraordinary facts relating to Anne of 
Austria and Cardinal Mazarine. The other is in 
two small volumes, ( Memoires de Madame Staal.' 
The facts are no great matter, but the manner and 
vivacity make them interesting. She was a sort of 
confidante to the late Duchess of Maine, and im- 
prisoned a long time on her account during the re- 
gency. 

I ought before now to have thanked you for 
your kind offer, which I mean soon to accept, for a 
reason which to be sure can be none to you and 
Mrs. Wharton ; and therefore I think it my duty 
to give you notice of it. I have told you already 
of my mental ailments ; and it is a very possible 
thing also that I may be bodily ill again in town, 
which I would not choose to be in a dirty incon- 
venient lodging, where, perhaps, my nurse might 
stifle me with a pillow; and therefore it is no 
wonder if I prefer your house : but I tell you of 
this in time, that if either of you are frightened at 
the thoughts of a sick body, you may make a hand- 
some excuse, and save yourselves this trouble. You 
are not, however, to imagine my illness is in esse ; 
no, it is only in posse; otherwise I should be scru- 
pulous of bringing it home to you. I think I shall 
be with you in about a fortnight. 



330 MEMOIRS OF 



LETTER XXIV. 

MR. GRAY TO MR. MASON. 

Stoke, July 25, 1756. 
I FEEL a contrition for my long silence ; and yet 
perhaps it is the last thing you trouble your head 
about. Nevertheless I will be as sorry as if you 
took it ill. I am sorry too to see you so punctilious 
as to stand upon answers, and never to come near 
me till I have regularly left my name at your door, 
like a mercer's wife, that imitates people who go a 
visiting. I would forgive you this, if you could 
possibly suspect I were doing any thing that I liked 
better; for then your formality might look like 
being piqued at my negligence, which has some- 
what in it like kindness : but you know I am at 
Stoke, hearing, seeing, doing absolutely nothing. 
Not such a nothing as you do at Tunbridge, 
chequered and diversified with a succession of fleet- 
ing colours ; but heavy, lifeless, without form and 
void; sometimes almost as black as the moral of 
Voltaire's Lisbon*, which angers you so. I have 
had no more muscular inflations, and am only 
troubled with this depression of mind. You will 
not expect therefore I should give you any account 
of my Verve, which is at best (you know) of so de- 
licate a constitution, and has such weak nerves, as 
not to stir out of its chamber above three days in 
a year. But I shall inquire after yours, and why 
it is off again ? It has certainly worse nerves than 
mine, if your reviewers have frighted it. Sure I 
(not to mention a score of your other critics) am 



* His poem 'surla Destruction de Lisbon/ pub- 
lished about that time. 



MR. GRAY. 331 

something a better judge than all the man-mid- 
wives and presbyterian parsons* that ever were 
born. Pray give me leave to ask you, do you find 
yourself tickled with the commendations of such 
people? (for you have your share of these too) I 
dare say not ; your vanity has certainly a better 
taste. And can then the censure of such critics 
move you ? I own it is an impertinence in these 
gentry to talk of one at all either in good or in bad ; 
but this we must all swallow : I mean not only we 
that write, but all the zee's that ever did any thing 
to be talked of. 

While I am writing I receive yours, and rejoice 
to find that the genial influences of this fine season, 
which produce nothing in me, have hatched high 
and unimaginable fantasies in yout. I see, me- 
thinks, as I sit on Snowdon, some glimpse of Mona 
and her haunted shades, and hope we shall be very" 
good neighbours. Any druidical anecdotes that I 
can meet with, I will be sure to send you when I 
return to Cambridge ; but I cannot pretend to be 
learned without books, or to know the Druids 
from modern bishops at this distance. I can only 
tell you not to go and take Mona for the Isle of 
Man : it is Anglesey, a tract of plain country, very 
fertile, but picturesque only from the view it has 
of Caernarvonshire, from which it is separated by 
the Menai", a narrow arm of the sea. Forgive me 
for supposing in you such a want of erudition. 

I congratulate you on our glorious successes in 
the Mediterranean. Shall we go in time, and hire 
a house together in Switzerland? It is a fine 
poetical country to look at, and nobody there will 
understand a word we say or write. 

* The reviewers, at the time, were supposed to 
be of these professions. 

t I had sent him my first idea of Caractacus, 
drawn out in a short argument. 



332 MEMOIRS OF 



LETTER XXV. 



MR. GRAY TO MR. MASON. 

Cambridge, May, 1757. 
YOU are so forgetful of me that I should not for- 
give it, but that I suppose Caractacus may be the 
better for it. Yet I hear nothing from him neither, 
in spite of his promises : there is no faith in man, 
no not in a Welchman ; and yet Mr. Parry * has 
been here, and scratched out such ravishing blind 
harmony, such tunes of a thousand years old, with 
names enough to choke you, as have set all this 
learned body a dancing, and inspired them with 
due reverence for my old Bard his countryman, 
whenever he shall appear. Mr. Parry, you must 
know, has put my ode in motion again, and has 
brought it at last to a conclusion. 'Tis to him, 
therefore, that you owe the treat which I send you 
inclosed ; namely, the breast and merry-thought, 
and rump too of the chicken which I have been 
chewing so long, that I would give the world for 
neck-beef or cow-heel. 

You will observe, in the beginning of this thing, 
some alterations of a few words, partly for im- 
provement, and partly to avoid repetitions of like 
words and rhymes ; yet I have not got rid of them 
all; the six last lines of the fifth stanza are new, 
tell me whether they will do. 1 am well aware of 
many weakly things towards the conclusion, but I 
hope the end itself will do ; give me your full and 

* A capital performer on the Welch harp, and 
who was either born blind, or had been so from his 
infancy. 



MR. GRAY. 333 

true opinion, and that not upon deliberation but 
forthwith. Mr. Hurd himself allows that Lion- 
port is not too bold for Queen Elizabeth. 

I have got the old Scotch ballad on which 
Douglas * was founded ; it is divine, and as long 
as from hence to Aston. Have you never seen it ? 
Aristotle's best rules are observed in it, in a manner 
that shows the author had never read Aristotle. 
It begins in the fifth act of the play: you may read 
it two thirds through without guessing what it is 
about ; and yet, when you come to the end, it is 
impossible not to understand the whole story. I 
send you the two first stanzas. 



* He had a high opinion of this first drama of 
Mr. Home. In a letter to another friend, dated 
August 10, this year, he says, * I am greatly struck 
with the tragedy of Douglas, though it has infinite 
faults : the author seems to me to have retrieved 
the true language of the stage, which had been lost 
for these hundred years ; and there is one scene 
(between Matilda and the old peasant) so masterly, 
that it strikes me blind to all the defects in the 
world.' The ballad, which he here applauds, is 
to be found in Mr. Percy's Reliques of ancient 
Poetry, Vol. III. p. 89, a work published after the 
date of this letter. 



334 MEMOIRS OF 



LETTER XXVI. 

MR. GRAY TO MR. HURD*. 

Stoke, August 25, 1757. 
I DO not know why you should thank me for what 
you had a right and title to t ; but attribute it to 
the excess of your politeness; and the more so, 
because almost no one else has made me the same 
compliment. As your acquaintance in the Uni- 
versity (you say) do me the honour to admire, it 
would be ungenerous, in me not to give them 
notice, that they are doing a very unfashionable 
thing ; for all people of condition are agreed not to 
admire, nor even to understand. One very great 
man, writing to an acquaintance of his and mine, 
says that he had read them seven or eight times ; 
•and that now, when he next sees him, he shall not 
have above thirty questions to ask. Another (a 
peer) believes that the last stanza of the second 
ode relates to King Charles the First and Oliver 
Cromwell. Even my friends tell me they do not 
succeed, and write me moving topics of consolation 
on that head. In short, I have heard of nobody 
but an actor and a doctor of divinity that profess 
their esteem for them £. Oh yes, a lady of quality, 



* Now Bishop of Lichfield and Coventry. 

t A present of his two Pindaric Odes just then 
published. 

± This was written August 25, 1757. An extract 
from a letter of Mr. Gray to Dr. Wharton, dated 
October 7, 17-7, mentions another admirer, whom 
he knew how to value. « Dr. Warburton is come 
to town, and I am told likes them extremely : he 



MR. GRAY. 335 

(a friend of Mason's) who is a great reader. She 
knew there was a compliment to Dryden, but never 
suspected there was any thing said about Shak- 
speare or Milton, till it was explained to her ; and 
wishes that there had been titles prefixed to tell 
what they were about. 

From this mention of Mason's name you may 
think, perhaps, we are great correspondents. No 
such thing ; I have not heard from him these two 
months. T will be sure to scold in my own name, 
as well as in yours. I rejoice to hear you are so 
ripe for the press, and so voluminous ; not for my 
own sake only, whom you flatter with the hopes of 
seeing your labours both public and private, but 
for yours too ; for to be employed is to be happy. 
This principle of mine (and I am convinced of its 
truth) has, as usual, no influence on my practice. 
I am alone, and ennuye to the last degree, yet do 
nothing. Indeed I have one excuse; my health 
(which you have so kindly inquired after) is not 
extraordinary, ever since I came hither. It is no 
great malady, but several little ones, that seem 
brewing no good to me. It will be a particular 



says the world never passed so just an opinion upon 
any thing as upon them ; for that in other things 
they have affected to like or dislike : whereas here 
they own they do not understand, which he looks 
upon to be very true ; but yet thinks they under- 
stand them as well as Milton or Shakspeare, whom 
they are obliged, by fashion, to admire. Mr. Gar- 
rick's complimentary verses to me you have seen ; 
I am told they were printed in the Chronicle of 
last Saturday. The Critical Review is in raptures ; 
but mistakes the /Eolian lyre for the harp of 
vEolus, and on this pleasant error founds both a 
compliment and a criticism. This is all I heard 
that signifies any thing.' 



336 MEMOIRS OF 

pleasure to me to hear whether Content dwells in 
Leicestershire, and how she entertains herself there. 
Only do not be too happy, nor forget entirely the 
quiet ugliness of Cambridge. 



LETTER XXVII. 



MR. GRAY TO MR. MASON. 






Stoke, Sept. 28, 1767- 
I HAVE (as I desired Mr. Stonhewer to tell you) 
read over Caractacus twice, not with pleasure only, 
but with emotion. You may say what you will; 
but the contrivance, the manners, the interests, 
the passions, and the expression, go beyond the 
dramatic part * of your Elfrida, many many leagues. 



* In the manuscript now before him, Mr. Gray 
had only the first ode, the others were not then 
written ; and although the dramatic part was 
brought to a conclusion, yet it was afterwards in 
many places altered. He was mistaken with regard 
to the opinion the world would have about it. 
That world, which usually loves to be led in such 
matters, rather than form an opinion for itself, 
was taught a different sentiment ; and one of its 
leaders went so far as to declare, that he never 
knew a second work fall so much below a first 
from the same hand. To oppose Mr. Gray's judg- 
ment to his, I must own gives me some satisfaction ; 
and to enjoy it I am willing to risk that imputa- 
tion of vanity, which may probably fall to my share 
for having published this letter. I must add, 



MR. GRAY. S37 

I even say (though you will think me a bad judge 
of this) that the world will like it better. I am 
struck with the Chorus, who are not there merely 
to sing and dance, but bear throughout a princi- 
pal part in the action ; and have (beside the cos- 
tume, which is excellent) as much a character of 
their own, as any other person. I am charmed 
with their priestly pride and obstinancy, when, 
after all is lost, they resolve to confront the Roman 
general, and spit in his face. But now I am going 
to tell you what touches me most from the be- 
ginning. The first opening is greatly improved : 
the curiosity of Didius is now a very natural reason 
for dwelling on each particular of the scene before 
him ; nor is the description at all too long. -I am 
glad to find the two young men are Cartismandua's 
sons. They interest me far more. I love people 
of condition. They were men before that nobody 
knew : one could not make them a bow if one had 
met them at a public place. 

I always admired that interruption of the Druids 
to Evelina, Peace, virgin, peace, &c. and chiefly 
the abstract idea personified (to use the words of 
a critic) at the end of it. That of Caractacus, 
Would save my Queen, &c. and still more that, J 
know it, reverend Fathers, 'tis lleaven's high will, 
&c. to I've done, begin the rites ! This latter is 
exemplary for the expression (always the great point 
with me) ; I do not mean by expression the mere 
choice of words, but the whole dress, fashion, and 
arrangement of a thought. Here, in particular, it 
is the brokenness, the ungrammatical position, the 
total subversion of the period that charms me. All 
that ushers in the incantation from Try we yet, 
what holiness can do, I am delighted with in quite 



however, that some of my friends advised it for 
the sake of the more general criticisms which they 
thought too valuable to be suppressed. 

Q 



338 MEMOIRS OF 

another way ; for this is pure poetry, as it ought to 
be, forming the proper transition, and leading on 
the mind to that still purer poetry that follows it. 

In the beginning of the succeeding act I admire 
the Chorus again, Is it not now the hour, the holy 
hour, &c. and their evasion of a lie, Say'st thou, 
proud boy, &c. and sleep with the unsunn'd silver t 
which is an example of a dramatic simile. The 
sudden appearance of Caractacus, the pretended re- 
spect and admiration of "Vellinus, and the probability 
of his story, the distrust of the Druids, and their 
reasoning with Caractacus, and particularly that 
'Tis meet thou should" st, thou art a King> &c. and 
Mark me, Prince, the lime will come, when De- 
stiny, &c. are well, and happily imagined. A-propos, 
of the last striking passage I have mentioned, I am 
going to make a digression. 

When we treat a subject, where the manners are 
almost lost in antiquity, our stock of ideas must 
needs be small ; and nothing betrays our poverty 
more than the returning to, and harping frequently 
on, one image. It was therefore I thought you 
should omit some lines before, though good in them- 
selves, about the scythed car, that the passage now 
before us might appear with greater lustre when it 
came ; and in this I see you have complied with 
me. But there are other ideas here and there still, 
that occur too often, particularly about the Oaks, 
some of which I would discard to make way for the 
rest. 

But the subjects I speak of to compensate (and 
more than compensate) that unavoidable poverty, 
have one great advantage when they fall into good 
hands. They leave an unbounded liberty to pure 
imagination and fiction, (our favourite provinces) 
where no critic can molest, or antiquary gainsay 
us ; and yet (to please me) these fictions must have 
some affinity, some seeming connexion, with that 
little we really know of the character and customs 
of the people. For example, I never heard in my 



MR. GRAY. 339 

days that Midnight and the Moon were sisters ; that 
they carried rods of ebony and gold, or met to 
whisper on the top of a mountain : but now I could 
lay my life it is all true ; and do not doubt it will 
be found so in some Pantheon of the Druids, that is 
to be discovered in the Library at Herculaneum. 
The Car of Destiny and Death is a very noble in- 
vention of the same class, and, as far as that goes, 
is so fine, that it makes me more delicate, than 
perhaps I should be, about the close of it. Andraste 
sailing on the wings of Fame, that snatches the 
wreaths from oblivion to hang them on her loftiest 
Amaranth, though a clear and beautiful piece of 
unknown mythology, has too Greek an air to give 
me perfect satisfaction. 

Now I proceed. The preparation to the Chorus, 
though so much akin to that in the former act, is 
excellent, The remarks of Evelina and her sus- 
picions of the brothers, mixed with a secret in- 
clination to the younger of them, (though, I think, 
her part throughout wants retouching) yet please 
me much, and the contrivance of the following scene 
much more. Masters of Wisdom, no, &c. I always 
admired ; as I do the rocking stone, and the dis- 
tress of Elidurus. Evelina's examination of him is 
a well-invented scene, and will be, with a little pains, 
a very touching one ; but the introduction of Ar- 
viragus is superlative. I am not sure whether those 
few lines of his short narrative, My strength re- 
pair 'd, it boots not, that I tell, &c. do not please 
me as much as any thing in the whole drama. The 
sullen bravery of Elidurus, the menaces of the 
Chorus, that Think not, Religion, &c. the trumpet 
of the Druids, that I'll follow him, though in my 
chains, &c. Ilast thou a brother, no, &c. the 
placability of the Chorus, when they see the mo- 
tives of Elidurus's obstinacy, give me great con- 
tentment : so do the reflections of the Druid on the 
necessity of lustration, and the reasons for Vellinus's 
easy escape ; but I would not have him seize on a 



340 MEMOIRS OF 

spear, nor issue hasty through the cavern* s mouth* 
Why should he not steal away, unasked and un- 
missed, till the hurry of passions in those, that 
should have guarded him, was a little abated ? But 
I chiefly admire the two speeches of Elidurus ; Ah, 
Vellinus, is this then, &c. and Ye do gaze on me, 
Fathers, &c. the manner in which the Chorus reply 
to him is very fine ; but the image at the end wants 
a little mending. The next scene is highly moving : 
it is so very good, that I must have it made yet 
better. 

Now for the last act, I do not know what you 
would have, but to me the design and contrivance 
of it is at least equal to any part of the whole. The 
short-lived triumph of the Britons, the address of 
Caractacus to the Roman victims, Evelina's dis- 
covery of the ambush, the mistake of the Roman 
fires for the rising sun, the death of Arviragus, 
the interview between Didius and Caractacus, his 
mourning over his dead son, his parting speech, 
(in which you have made all the use of Tacitus that 
your plan would admit) every thing, in short, but 
that little dispute between Didius and him; 'Tis 
well; and therefore to increase that reverence, &c. 
down to, Give me a moment (which must be omitted, 
or put in the mouth of the Druids) I approve in the 
highest degree. If I should find any fault with the 
last act, it could only be with trifles and little ex- 
pressions. If you make any alterations, I fear it 
will never improve it ; I mean as to the plan. I 
send you back the two last sheets because you bid 
me. 1 reserve my nibblings and minutia? for another 
day. 



MR. GRAY. 341 



LETTER XXVIII. 

MR. GRAY TO MR. MASON. 

Cambridge, Dec. 19, 1757. 
A LIFE spent out of the world has its hours of 
despondence, its inconveniencies, its sufferings, as 
numerous and as real, though not quite of the same 
sort, as a life spent in the midst of it. The power 
we have, when we will exert it over our own minds, 
joined to a little strength and consolation, nay, a 
little pride we catch from those that seem to love 
us, is our only support in either of these conditions. 
I am sensible I cannot return you more of this as- 
sistance than I have received from you; and can 
only tell you, that one who has far more reason 
than you, I hope, ever will have to look on life 
with something worse than indifference, is yet no 
enemy to it ; but can look backward on many bitter 
moments partly with satisfaction, and partly with 
patience; and forward too, on a scene not very 
promising, with some hope, and some expectations 
of a better day. The cause, however, which oc- 
casioned your reflection, (though 1 can judge but 
very imperfectly of it) dees not seem, at present, 
to be weighty enough to make you take any such 
resolution as you meditate. Use it in its season, 
as a relief from what is tiresome to you, but not as 
if it was in consequence of any thing you take ill; 
on the contrary, if such a thing had happened at 
the time of your transmigration, I would defer it 
merely to avoid that appearance. 

As to myself, I cannot boast, at present, either 
of my spirits, my situation, my employments, or 
fertility. The days and the nights pass, and I am 
never the nearer to any thing, but that one to 



342 MEMOIRS OF 

which we are all tending ; yet I love people that 
leave some traces of their journey behind them, and 
have strength enough to advise you to do so while 
you can. I expect to see Caractacus completed, 
and therefore I send you the books you wanted. I 
do not know whether they will furnish you with 
any new matter; but they are well enough written, 
and easily read. I told you before that (in a time 
of dearth) I would borrow from the Edda, without 
enteriug too minutely on particulars : but, if I did 
so, I would make each image so clear, that it might 
be fully understood by itself; for in this obscure 
mythology we must not hint at things, as we do with 
the Greek fables, that every body is supposed to 
know at school. However, on second thoughts, I 
think it would be still better to graft any wild 
picturesque fable, absolutely of one's own invention, 
on the Druid-stock ; I mean on those half dozen 
of old fancies that are known to be a part of their 
system. This will give you more freedom and la- 
titude, and will leave no hold for the critics to 
fasten on. 

I send you back the Elegy* as you desired me 
to do. My advices are always at your service to 
take or to refuse, therefore you should not call 
them severe. You know I do not love, much less 
pique myself on criticism ; and think even a bad 
verse as good a thing or better than the best ob- 
servation that ever was made upon it. I like greatly 
the spirit and sentiment of it (much of which you 
perhaps owe to your present train of thinking) ; the 
disposition of the whole too is natural and elegiac; 
as to the expression, I would venture to say (did not 
you forbid me) that it is sometimes too easy. The 
last line I protest against (this, you will say, is worse 
than blotting out rhymes) ; the descriptive part is 
excellent. 

Pray, when did I pretend to finish, or even insert 

* Elegy in the Garden of a Friend. 



MR. GRAY. 343 

passages into other people's works, as if it were 
equally easy to pick holes and to mend them ? All 
I can say is, that your Elegy must not end with the 
worst line in it*. It is flat ; it is prose ; whereas 
that, above all, ought to sparkle, or at least to shine. 
If the sentiment must stand, twirl it a little into an 
apophthegm : stick a flower in it ; gild it with a 
costly expression; let it strike the fancy, the ear, 
or the heart, and I am satisfied. 

The other particular expressions which I object 
to, I mark on the manuscript. Now, I desire you 
would neither think me severe, nor at all regard 
what I say further than as it coincides with your own 
judgment ; for the child deserves your partiality ; 
it is a healthy well-made boy with an ingenuous 
countenance, and promises to live long. I would 
only wash its face, dress it a little, make it walk 
upright and strong, and keep it from learning paw 
words. 

I hope you couched my refusal f to Lord John 
Cavendish in as respectful terms as possible, and 
with all due acknowledgment to the Duke. If you 
hear who it is to be given to, pray let me know ; 
for I interest myself a little in the history of it, 
and rather wish somebody may accept it that will 
retrieve the credit of the thing, if it be retrievable, 
or- ever had any credit. Rowe was, I think, the 
last man of character that had it ; Eusden was a 
person of great hopes in his youth, though at last 
he turned out a drunken parson ; Dryden was as 



* An attempt was accordingly made to improve 
it; how it stood when this criticism upon it was 
written, I cannot now recollect. 

f Of being Poet Laureat on the death of Gibber, 
which place the late Duke of Devonshire (then Lord 
Chamberlain) desired his brother to offer to Mr. 
Gray ; and his Lordship had commissioned me 
(then in town) to write to him concerning it. 



344 MEMOIRS OF 

disgraceful to the office, from his character, as 
the poorest scribbler could have been from his 
verses. 



LETTER XXIX. 

MR. GRAY TO DR. WHARTON. 

February 24, 1751. 
WOULD you know what I am doing ? I doubt you 
have been told already, and hold my employments 
cheap enough ; but every one must judge of his 
own capability, and cut his amusements according 
to his disposition. The drift of my present studies 
is to know, wherever I am, what lies within reach 
that may be worth seeing, whether it be building, 
ruin, park, garden, prospect, picture, or monument ; 
to whom it does or has belonged, and what has been 
the characteristic and taste of different ages. You 
will say this is the object of all antiquaries ; but pray 
what antiquary ever saw these objects in the same 
light, or desired to know them for a like reason ? In 
short, say what you please, I am persuaded whenever 
my list* is finished you will approve it, and think it 
of no small use. My spirits are very near the freezing 

* He wrote it, under its several divisons, on the 
blank pages of a pocket atlas. I printed lately a 
few copies of this catalogue for the use of some 
friends curious in such matters; and, when I am 
sufficiently furnished with their observations and 
improvements upon it, shall perhaps reprint it and 
give it to the public, as a shorter and more useful 
Pocket Companion to the English Traveller than has 
hitherto appeared. 



MR. GRAY. 345 

point ; and for some hours of the day this exercise, 
by its warmth and gentle motion, serves to raise 
them a few degrees higher. 

I hope the misfortune that has befallen Mrs. 
Cibber's canary bird will not be the ruin of Agis : 
it is probable you will have curiosity enough to see 
it, as it is by the author of Douglas. 



LETTER XXX. 



MR. GRAY TO DR. WHARTON. 

Cambridge, March 8, 1758. 
IT is indeed for want of spirits, as you suspect, 
that my studies lie among the cathedrals, and the 
tombs, and the ^ruins. To think, though to little 
purpose, has been the chief amusement of my days j 
and when I would not or cannot think, I dream. 
At present I feel myself able to write a catalogue, 
or to read the Peerage book, or Miller's Gardening 
Dictionary, and am thankful that there are such 
employments and such authors in the world. Some 
people, who hold me cheap for this, are doing 
perhaps what is not half so well worth while. As 
to posterity, I may ask, (with somebody whom I 
have forget) what has it ever done to oblige me ? 

To make a transition from myself to as poor a 
subject, the Tragedy of Agis ; I cry to think that 
it should be by the author of Douglas : why, it is 
all modern Greek ; the story is an antique statue 
painted white and red, frized, and dressed in a 
negligee made by a Yorkshire mantua-maker. Then 
here is the Miscellany (Mr. Dodsley has sent me the 
whole set gilt and lettered, I thank him). Why, 

Q 2 



346 MEMOIRS OF 

the two last volumes are worse than the four first; 
particularly Dr. Akenside is in a deplorable way *. 
What signifies learning and the ancients, (Mason 
will say triumphantly) why should people read Greek 
to lose their imagination, their ear, and their mother 
tongue? But then there is Mr. Shenstone, who 
trusts to nature and simple sentiment, why does he 
do no better ? he goes hopping along his own gravel- 
walks, and never deviates from the beaten paths 
for fear of being lost. 

I have read Dr. Swift, and am disappointed f. 
There is nothing of the negotiations that I have not 
seen better in M. de Torcy before. The manner 
is careless, and has little to distinguish it from 
common writers. I meet with nothing to please me 
but the spiteful characters of the opposite party and 
its leaders. I expected much more secret history. 



* I have been told that this writer, unquestionably 
a man of great learning and genius, entertained, 
some years before his death, a notion that poetry 
was only true eloquence in metre ; and, according 
to this idea; wrote his Ode to the Country Gentle- 
men of England, and afterwards made considerable 
alterations in that collection of Odes which he had 
published in the earlier part of his life. We have 
seen in the second letter of this section, that Mr. 
Gray thought highly of his descriptive talents at 
that time. We are not therefore to impute what 
he here says to any prejudice in the critic, but to 
that change of taste in the poet, which (if the above 
anecdote be true) would unavoidably flatten his 
descriptions, and divest them of all picturesque 
imagery ; nay, would sometimes convert his verse 
into mere prose ; or, what is still worse, hard inflated 
prose. 

t His history of the four last years of Queen 
Anne. 



MR. GRAY. 347 

LETTER XXXI. 
MR. GRAY TO MR. STONHEYVER. 

Cambridge, August 18, 1758. 
I AM as sorry as you seem to be, that our ac- 
quaintance harped so much on the subject of ma- 
terialism, when I saw him with you in town, because 
it was plain to which side of the long-debated question 
he inclined. That we are indeed mechanical and 
dependent beings, I need no other proof than my 
own feelings ; and from the same feelings I learn, 
with equal conviction, that we are not merely such : 
that there is a power within that struggles against 
the force and bias of that mechanism, commands 
its motion, and, by frequent practice, reduces it to 
that ready obedience which we call habit ; and all 
this in conformity to a preconceived opinion (no 
matter whether right or wrong) to that least material 
of all agents, a Thought. I have known many in 
his case who, while they thought they were con- 
quering an old prejudice, did not perceive they were 
under the influence of one far more dangerous ; one 
that furnishes us with a ready apology for all our 
worst actions, and opens to us a full licence for doing 
whatever we please ; and yet these very people were 
not at all the more indulgent to other men (as they 
naturally should have been) ; their indignation to 
such as offended them, their desire of revenge on 
any body that hurt them was nothing mitigated : 
in short, the truth is, they wished to be persuaded 
of that opinion for the sake of its convenience, 
but were not so in their heart ; and they would have 
been glad (as they ought in common prudence) that 
nobody else should think the same, for fear of the 
mischief that might ensue to themselves. His French 



o48 MEMOIRS OF 

author I never saw, but have read fifty in the same 
strain, and shall read no more. I can be wretched 
enough without them. They put me in mind of 
the Greek Sophist that got immortal honour by 
discoursing so feelingly on the miseries of our con- 
dition, that fifty of his audience went home and 
hanged themselves ; yet he lived himself (I suppose) 
many years after in very good plight. 

You say you cannot conceive how Lord Shaftesbury 
came to be a philosopher in vogue ; I will tell you : 
First, he was a lord ; 2dly, he was as vain as any 
of his readers ; 3dly, men are very prone to believe 
what they do not understand ; 4thly, they will 
believe any thing at all, provided they are under 
no obligation to believe it ; 5thly, they love to take 
a new road, even when that road leads nowhere; 
fithly, he was reckoned a fine writer, and seemed 
always to mean more than he said. Would you 
have anymore reasons ? An interval of above forty 
years has pretty well destroyed the charm. A dead 
lord ranks but with commoners : vanity is no longer 
interested in the matter, for the new road is become 
an old one. The mode of free-thinking is like 
that of ruffs and farthingales, and has given place 
to the mode of not thinking at all ; once it was 
reckoned graceful half to discover and half conceal 
the mind, but now we have been long accustomed 
to see it quite naked : primness and affectation of 
style, like the good breeding of Queen Anne's court, 
has turned to hoydening and rude familiarity. 



It will, I think, be no improper supplement to 
the foregoing letter to insert a paper of Mr. Gray's, 
which contains some very pertinent strictures on 
the writings of a later lord, who was pleased to attack 
the moral attributes of the Deity ; or, what amounted 



MR. GRAY. S49 

to the same thing, endeavoured to prove, "that we 
have no adequate ideas of his goodness and justice, 
as we have of his natural ones, his wisdom and 
power." This position the excellent author of the 
View of Lord Bolingbroke's Philosophy calls the 
main pillar of his system ; and adds, in another 
place, that the fate of all religion is included 
in this question. On this important point, there- 
fore, that able writer has dwelt largely, and confuted 
his lordship effectually. Some sort of readers, how- 
ever, who probably would slight that confutation, 
may regard the arguments of a layman, and even 
a poet, more than those which are drawn up by the 
pen of a divine and a bishop : it is for the use of 
these that the paper is published ; who, if they learn 
nothing else from it, will find that Mr. Gray was not 
of their party, nor so great a wit as to disbelieve the 
existence of a Deity *. 

" I will allow Lord Bolingbroke, that the moral, 
as well as physical, attributes of God must be known 
to us only a posteriori, and that this is the only real 
knowledge we can have either of the one or the 



* In one of his pocket-books I find a slight sketch 
in verse of his own character, which may, on account 
of one line in it, come into a note here with sufficient 
propriety. It was written in 1761. 

Too poor for a bribe, and too'proud to importune; 
He had not the method of making a fortune : 
Could love, and could hate, so was thought some- 
what odd ; 

NO VERY GREAT WIT, HE BELIEV'D IN A GOD. 

A post or a pension he did not desire, 
But left church and state to Charles Townshend 
and Squire. 

This last line needs no comment for readers of 
the present time, and it surely is not worth while 
to write one on this occasion for posterity. 



350 MEMOIRS OF 

other ; I will allow too that perhaps it may be an 
idle distinction which we make between them : his 
moral attributes being as much in his nature and 
essence as those we call his physical ; but the occasion 
of our making some distinction is* plainly this : his 
eternity, infinity, omniscience, and almighty power, 
are not what connect him, if I may so speak, with 
ws his creatures. We adore him, not because he 
always did in every place, and always will, exist ; 
but because he gave and still preserves to us our 
own existence by an exertion of his goodness. We 
adore him, not because he knows and can do all 
things, but because he made us capable of knowing 
and of doing what may conduct us to happiness : it 
is therefore his benevolence which we adore, not his 
greatness or power ; and if we are made only to bear 
our part in a system, without any regard to our own 
particular happiness, we can no longer worship him 
as our all-bounteous parent: there is no meaning 
in the term. The idea of his malevolence (an im- 
piety I tremble to write) must succeed. We have 
nothing left but our fears, and those too vain; for 
whither can they lead but to despair and the sad 
desire of annihilation ? « If, then, justice and good- 
ness be not the same in God as in our ideas, we 
mean nothing when we say that God is necessarily 
just and good; and for the same reason it may as 
well be said that we know not what we mean when, 
according to Dr. Clarke, (Evid. 26th) we affirm that 
he is necessarily a wise and intelligent Being.' What 
then can Lord Bolingbroke mean, when he says 
every thing shows the wisdom of God ; and yet adds, 
every thing does not show in like manner the good- 
ness of God conformably to our ideas of this attribute 
in either? By wisdom he must only mean, that God 
knows and employs the fittest means to a certain 
end, no matter what that end may be : this indeed 
is a proof of knowledge and intelligence ; but these 
alone do not constitute wisdom ; the word implies 
the application of these fittest means to the best 
and kindest end : or, who will call it true wisdom ? 



MR. GRAY. 351 

Even amongst ourselves, it is not held as such. All 
the attributes then that he seems to think apparent 
in the constitution of things are his unity, infinity, 
eternity, and intelligence; from no one of which, I 
boldly affirm, can result any duty of gratitude or 
adoration incumbent on mankind, more than if He 
and all things round him were produced, as some 
have dared to think, by the necessary working of 
eternal matter in an infinite vacuum : for what does 
it avail to add intelligence to those other physical 
attributes, unless that intelligence be directed, not 
only to the good of the whole, but also to the good 
of every individual of which that whole is composed ? 
f( It is therefore no impiety, but the direct contrary, 
to say that human justice and the other virtues, 
which are indeed only various applications of human 
benevolence, bear some resemblance to the moral 
attributes of the supreme Being : it is only by means 
of that resemblance we conceive them in him, or their 
effects in his works : it is by the same means only, that 
we comprehend those physical attributes which his 
lordship allows to be demonstrable : how can we form 
any notion of his unity, but from that unity of which 
we ourselves are conscious ? How of his existence, 
but from our own consciousness of existing ? How 
of his power, but of that power which we experience 
in ourselves ? yet neither Lord Bolingbroke nor any 
other man, that thought on these subjects, ever 
believed that these our ideas were real and full re- 
presentations of these attributes in the Divinity. 
They say he knows ; they do not mean that he com- 
pares ideas which he acquired from sensation, and 
draws conclusions from them. They say he acts ; 
they do not mean by impulse, nor as the soul acts 
on an organized body. They say he is omnipotent 
and eternal ; yet on what are their ideas founded, 
but on our own narrow conceptions of space and 
duration, prolonged beyond the bounds of place 
and time ? Either therefore there is a resemblance 
and analogy (however imperfect and distant) between 
the attributes of the Divinity and our conceptions 



352 MEMOIRS OF 

of them, or we cannot have any conceptions of them 
at all: he allows we ought to reason from earth, 
that we do know, to heaven, which we do not 
know ; how can we do so but by that affinity which 
appears between one and the other ? 

«* In vain then does my lord attempt to ridicule the 
warm but melancholy imagination of Mr. Wollaston 
in that fine soliloquy : * Must I then bid my last 
farewell to these walks when I close these lids, and 
yonder blue regions and all this scene darken upon 
me and go out ? Must I then only serve to furnish 
dust to be mingled with the ashes of these herds and 
plants, or with this dirt under my feet ? Have I 
been set so far above them in life, only to be levelled 
with them in death * ? No thinking head, no heart, 
that has the least sensibility, but must have made the 
same reflection ; or at least must feel, not the beauty 
alone, but the truth of it when he hears it from the 
mouth of another. Now what reply will Lord 
Bolingbroke make to these questions which are 
put to him, not only by Wollaston, but by all man- 
kind ? He will tell you, that we, that is, the animals, 
vegetables, stones, and other clods of earthy are all 
connected in one immense design, that we are all 
Dramatis Person ze, in different characters, and that 
we were not made for ourselves, but for the action : 
that it is foolish, presumptuous, impious, and pro- 
fane to murmur against the Almighty Author of this 
drama, when we feel ourselves unavoidably unhappy. 
On the contrary, we ought to rest our head on the 
soft pillow of resignation, on the immoveable rock 
of tranquillity ; secure, that, if our pains and afflic- 
tions grow violent indeed, an immediate end will 
be put to our miserable being, and we shall be 
mingled with the dirt under our feet, a thing com- 
mon to all the animal kind ; and of which he who 
complains does not seem to have been set by his 
reason so far above them in life, as to deserve not 

* Religion of Nature delineated, sect. 9, p. 209, 
quarto. 



MR. GRAY. 553 

to be mingled with them in death. Such is the 
consolation his philosophy gives us, and such the 
hope on which his tranquillity was founded *." 



LETTER XXXII. 

MR. GRAY TO DR. WHARTON. 

Sunday, April 9, 3/58. 
I AM equally sensible of your affliction f a and of 
your kindness, that made you think of me at such 
a moment; would to God I could lessen the one, or 
requite the other with that consolation which I 
have often received from you when I most wanted 
it! but your grief is too just, and the cause of it 
too fresh, to admit of any such endeavour. What, 
indeed, is all human consolation ? Can it efface 
every little amiable word or action of an object we 
loved, from our memory ? Can it convince us, that 
all, the hopes we had entertained, the plans of fu- 
ture satisfaction we had formed, were ill-grounded 
and vain, only because we have lost them ? The 
only comfort (I am afraid) that belongs to our con- 
dition, is to reflect (when time has given us leisure 
for reflection) that others have suffered worse; or 
that we ourselves might have suffered the same 
misfortune at times and in circumstances that 

* The reader, who would choose to see the ar- 
gument, as Lord Bolingbroke puts it, will find it 
in the 4th volume of his Philosophical Works, 
sect. 40, 41. His ridicule on Wollaston is in the 
50th section of the same volume. 

t Occasioned by the death of his eldest (and at 
the time his only) son. 



354 MEMOIRS OF 

would probably have aggravated our sorrow. You 
might have seen this poor child arrived at an age 
to fulfil all your hopes, to attach you more strongly 
to him by long habit, by esteem, as well as natural 
affection, and that towards the decline of your life, 
when we most stand in need of support, and when 
he might chance to have been your only support; 
and then by some unforeseen and deplorable acci- 
dent, or some painful lingering distemper, you 
might have lost him. Such has been the fate of 
many an unhappy father ! I know there is a sort of 
tenderness which infancy and innocence alone pro- 
duce ; but I think you must own the other to be a 
stronger and a more overwhelming sorrow. Let 
me then beseech you to try, by every method of 
avocation and amusement, whether you cannot, by 
degrees, get the better of that dejection of spirits, 
which inclines you to see every thing in the worst 
light possible, and throws a sort of voluntary 
gloom, not only over your present, but future 
days ; as if even your situation now were not pre- 
ferable to that of thousands round you; and as if 
your prospect hereafter might not open as much of 
happiness to you as to any person you know : the 
condition of our life perpetually instructs us to be 
rather slow to hope, as well as to despair ; and (I 
know you will forgive me, if I tell you) you are 
often a little too hasty in both, perhaps from con- 
stitution; it is sure we have great power over our 
minds, when we choose to exert it; and though it 
be difficult to resist the mechanic impulse and bias 
of our own temper, it is yet possible, and still 
more so to delay those resolutions it inclines us 
to take, which we almost always have cause to 
repent. 

• You tell me nothing of Mrs. Wharton's or your 
own state of health : I will not talk to you more 
upon this subject till I hear you are both well; for 
for that is the grand point, and without it we may 
as well not think at all. You flatter me in think- 



MR. GRAY. 355 

ing that any thing I can do*. could at all alleviate 
the just concern your loss has given you: but I 
cannot flatter myself so far, and know how little 
qualified I am at present to give any satisfaction to 
myself on this head, and in this way, much less to 
you. I by no means pretend to inspiration; but 
yet I affirm, that the faculty, in question, is by no 
means voluntary; it is the result (I suppose) of a 
certain disposition of mind, which does not depend 
on one's self, and which I have not felt this long 
time. You that are a witness how seldom this 
spirit has moved me in my life, may easily give 
credit to what I say. 



LETTER XXXIII. 

MR. GRAY TO MR. PALGRAVEt. 

Stoke, Sept. 6, 1758. 
I DO not know how to make you amends, having 
neither rock, ruin, nor precipice near me to send 
you ; they do not grow in the south : but only say 
the word, if you would have a compact neat box 
of red brick with sash windows, or a grotto made 
of flints and shell-work^ or a walnut-tree with three 
mole-hills under it, stuck with honey-suckles round 
a basin of gold-fishes, and you shall be satisfied; 
they shall come by the Edinburgh coach. 



* His friend had requested him to write an epi- 
taph on the child. 

t Rector of Palgrave and Thrandeston in Suffolk. 
He was making a tour in Scotland when this letter 
was written to him. 



S56 MEMOIRS OF 

In the mean time I congratulate you on your 
new acquaintance with the savage, the rude, and 
the tremendous. Pray, tell me, is it any thing like 
what you had read in your book, or seen in two- 
shilling prints? Do not you think a man may be 
the wiser (I had almost said the better) for going a 
hundred or two of miles ; and that the mind has 
more room in it than most people seem to think, if 
you will but furnish the apartments ? I almost 
envy your last month, being in a very insipid si- 
tuation myself; and desire you would not fail to 
send me some furniture for my Gothic apartment, 
which is very cold at present. It will be the easier 
task, as you have nothing to do but transcribe your 
little red books, if they are not rubbed out ; for I 
conclude you have not trusted even' thing to me- 
mory, which is ten times worse than a lead-pencil : 
half a word fixed upon or near the spot is worth a 
cart-lcad of recollection. When we trust to the 
picture that objects draw of themselves on our 
mind, we deceive ourselves ; without accurate and 
particular observation, it is but ill-drawn at first, 
the outlines are soon blurred, the colours every 
day grow fainter ; and at last, when we would pro- 
duce it to any body, we are forced to supply its de- 
fects with a few strokes of our own imagination *. 
God forgive me, I suppose I have done so myself 
before now, and misled many a good body that put 
their trust in me. Pray, tell me, (but with per- 
mission, and without any breach of hospitality) is 
it so much warmer on the other side of the Swale 
• ome people of honour say) than it is here? 
Has the singing of birds, the bleating of sheep, the 



* Had this letter nothing else to recommend it, 
the advice here given to the curious traveller of 
making all his memoranda on the spot, and the 
reasons for it are so well expressed, and withal so 
important^ that they certainly deserve our notice. 



MR. GRAY. 357 

lowing of herds, deafened you at Rainton ? Did the 
vast old oaks and thick groves in Northumberland 
keep off the sun too much from you ? I am too 
civil to extend my inquiries beyond Berwick. Every 
thing, doubtless, must improve upon you as you 
advanced northward. You must tell me, though, 
about Melross, Rosslin Chapel, and Arbroath. In 
short, your port-feuille must be so full, that I only 
desire a loose chapter or two, and will wait for the 
rest till it comes out. 



LETTER XXXIV. 

MR. GRAY TO MR. MASON. 

Stoke, Nov. 9, 1758. 
I SHOULD have told you that Caradoc came safe 
to hand * ; but my critical faculties have been so 
taken up in dividing nothing with an old womanf, 
that they are not yet composed enough for a better 
and more tranquil employment : shortly, however, 
I will make them obey me. But am I to send this 
copy to Mr. Hurd, or return it to you ? Methinks 
I do not love this travelling to and again of manu- 
scripts by the post. While I am writing, your se- 
cond packet is just arrived. I can only tell you in 
gross, that there seem to me certain passages al- 
tered which might as well have been let alone ; and 



* A second manuscript of Caractacus with the 
Odes inserted. 

t Mrs. Rogers died about this time, and left Mr. 
Gray and Mrs. Olliffe, another of his aunts, her 
joint executors. 



358 MEMOIRS OF 

that I shall not be easily reconciled to Mador's 
own song *. I must not have my fancy raised to 
that agreeable pitch of heathenism and wild ma- 
gical enthusiasm, and then have you let me drop 
into moral philosophy and cold good sense. I re- 
member you insulted me when I saw you last, and 
affected to call that which delighted my imagina- 
tion, ?wnsense: now I insist that sense is nothing 
in poetry, but according to the dress she wears, 
and the scene she appears in. If you should lead 
me into a superb Gothic building with a thousand 
clustered pillars, each of them half a mile high, 
the walls all covered with fretwork, and the win- 
dows full of red and blue saints that had neither 
head nor tail; and I should find the Venus of 
Medici in person perked up in a long niche over the 
high altar, do you think it would raise or damp 
my devotions? I say that Mador must be entirely 
a Briton ; and that his pre-eminence among his com- 
panions must be shown by superior wildness, more 
barbaric fancy, and a more striking and deeper 
harmony both of words and numbers : if British 
antiquity be too narrow, this is the place for in- 
vention; and if it be pure invention, so much the 
clearer must the expression be, and so much the 
stronger and richer the imagery. There's for you 
now ! 



* He means here the second ode, which was af- 
terwards greatly altered. 



MR. GRAY. 3d9 



LETTER XXXV. 



MR. GRAY TO MR. PALGRAYE. 

London, July 24, 1759» 
1 AM now settled in my new territories command- 
ing Bedford gardens, and all the fields as far as 
Highgate and Hampstead, with such a concourse of 
moving pictures as would astonish you ; so run-in- 
urbe-ish, that I believe 1 shall stay here, except 
little excursions and vagaries, for a year to come. 
What though I am separated from the fashionable 
world by broad St. Giles's, and many a dirty court 
and alley, yet here is air, and sunshine, and quiet, 
however, to comfort you : I shall confess that I am 
basking with heat all the summer, and I suppose 
shall be blown down all the winter, besides being 
robbed every night; I trust, however, that the 
Musasum, with all its manuscripts and rarities by 
the cart-load, will make ample amends for all the 
aforesaid inconveniencies. 

I this day past through the jaws of a great levia- 
than into the den of Dr. Templeman, superintendent 
of the reading-room, who congratulated himself on 
the sight of so much good company. We were, 
first, a man that writes for Lord Royston ; Cdly, a 
man that writes for Dr. Burton, of York ; 3dly, a 
man that writes for the Emperor of Germany, or 
Dr. Pocock, for he speaks the worst English I ever 
heard; 4thiy, Dr. Stukely, who writes for himself, 
the very worst person he could write for; and, 
lastly, I, who only read to know if there be any 
thing worth writing, and that not without some 
difficulty. I find that they printed 3 000 copies of 
the Harleian Catalogue, and have sold only four- 
score; that they have 9ooZ. a year income, and 



360 MEMOIRS OF 

spend 1300, and are building apartments for the 
under -keepers ; so I expect in winter to see the col- 
lection advertised and set to auction. 

Have you read Lord Clarendon's Continuation of 
his History ? Do you remember Mr. * *'s account 
of it before it came out ? How well he recollected 
all the faults, and how utterly he forgot all the 
beauties: surely the grossest taste is better than 
such a sort of delicacy. 



LETTER XXXVI. 

MR. GRAY TO DR. WHARTON. 

London, June 22, 1760. 
I AM not sorry to hear you are exceeding busy, ex- 
cept as it has deprived me of the pleasure I should 
have in hearing often from you ; and as it has been 
occasioned by a little vexation and disappointment. 
To find one's self business, I am persuaded, is the 
great art of life ; I am never so angry, as when I 
hear my acquaintance wishing they had been bred 
to some poking profession, or employed in some 
office of drudgery, as if it were pleasanter to be at 
the command of other people than at one's own ; 
and as if they could not go unless they were wound 
up : yet I know and feel what they mean by this 
complaint ; it proves that some spirit, something of 
genius (more than common) is required to teach a 
man how to employ himself: I say a man; for 
women, commonly speaking, never feel this dis- 
temper ; they have always something to do ; time 
hangs not on their hands (unless they be fine ladies) ; 
a variety of small inventions and occupations fill 
up the void, and their eyes are never open in vain. 



MR. GRAY. 361 

As to myself, I have again found rest for the 
sole of my gouty foot in your old dining-room *', 
and hope that you will find at least an equal satis- 
faction at Old-Park ; if your bog prove as com- 
fortable as my oven, I shall see no occasion to pity 
you, and only wish you may brew no worse than I 
bake. 

You totally mistake my talents, when you im- 
pute to me any magical skill in planting roses : I 
know I am no conjurer in these things ; when they 
are done I can find fault, and that is all. Now 
this is the very reverse of genius, and I feel my own 
littleness. Reasonable people know themselves 
better than is commonly imagined; and therefore 
(though I never saw any instance of it) I believe 
Mason when he tells me that he understands these 
things. The prophetic eye of taste (as Mr. Pitt 
calls it) sees all the beauties, that a place is sus- 
ceptible of, long before they are born ; and when it 
plants a seedling, already sits under the shadow of 
it, and enjoys the effect it will have from every 
point of view that lies in prospect. You must 
therefore invoke Caractacus, and he will send his 
spirits from the top of Snowdon to Cross-fell or 
Warden-law. 

I am much obliged to you for your antique 
news. Froissard is a favourite book of mine 
(though I have not attentively read him, but only 
dipped here and there) ; and it is strange to me 
that people, who would give thousands for a dozen 
portraits (originals of that time) to furnish a gal- 
lery, should never cast an eye on so many moving 
pictures of the life, actions, manners, and thoughts 



* The house in Southampton-row, where Mr. 
Gray lodged, had been tenanted by Dr. Wharton ; 
who, on .account of his ill health, left London the 
year before, and was removed to his paternal estate 
at Old-Park, near Durham. 

R 



362 MEMOIRS OF 

of their ancestors, done on the spot, and in strong, 
though simple colours. In the succeeding century 
Froissard, I find, was read with great satisfaction 
by every body that could read ; and on the same 
footing with King Arthur, Sir Tristram, and Arch- 
bishop Turpin: not because they thought him a fa- 
bulous writer, but because they took them all for 
true and authentic historians ; to so little purpose 
was it in that age for a man to be at the pains of 
writing truth. Pray, are you come to the four 
Irish Kings that went to school to King Richard 
the Second's Master of the Ceremonies, and the 
man who informed Froissard of all he had seen in 
St. Patrick's Purgatory? 

The town are reading the King of Prussia's 
poetry (Le Phi losophe sans Souci), and I have done 
like the town ; they do not seem so sick of it as I 
am : it is all the scum of Voltaire and Lord Boling- 
broke, the Crambe-recocta of our worst Freethinkers, 
tossed up in German-French rhyme. Tristram 
Shandy is still a greater object of admiration, the 
man as well as the book ; one is invited to dinner, 
where he dines, a fortnight before : as to the vo- 
lumes yet published, there is much good fun in 
them, and humour sometimes hit and sometimes 
missed. Have you read his sermons, with his own 
comic figure, from a painting by Reynolds, at the 
head of them ? They are in the style I think most 
proper for the pulpit *, and show a strong imagination 



* Our author was of opinion, that it was the bu- 
siness of the preacher rather to persuade by the 
power of eloquence to the practice of known duties, 
than to reason with the art of logic on points of 
controverted doctrine : hence, therefore, he thought 
that sometimes imagination might not be out of its 
place in a sermon. But let him speak for himself 
in an extract from one of his letters to me in the 
following year : « Your quotation from Jeremy 



MR. GRAY. 363 

and a sensible heart ; but you see him often tottering 
on the verge of laughter, and ready to throw his 
periwig in the face of the audience. 



LETTER XXXVII. 



MR. GRAY TO MR. STONHEWER. 

London, June 29, 176*0. 
THOUGH you have had but a melancholy em- 
ployment, it is worthy of envy, and I hope will 
have all the success it deserves *. It was the best 
and most natural method of cure, and such as 
could not have been administered by any but your 
gentle hand. I thank you for communicating to 
me what must give you so much satisfaction. 

I too was reading M. D'Alembertf, and (like 
you) am totally disappointed in his Elements. I 
could only taste a little of the first course : it was 
dry as a stick, hard as a stone, and cold as a cu- 



Taylor is a fine one. I have long thought of 
reading him; for I am persuaded that chopping 
logic in the pulpit, as our divines have done ever 
since the revolution, is not the thing ; but that 
imagination and warmth of expression are in their 
place there, as much as on the stage; moderated, 
however, and chastised a little by the purity and 
severity of religion. 

* Mr. Stonhewer was now at Houghton-le Spring, 
in the bishoprick of Durham, attending on his 
sick father, rector of that parish. 

t Two subsequent volumes of his 'Melanges de 
Litterature et Philosophic' 



361 MEMOIRS OF 

cumber. But then the letter to Rousseau is like 
himself; and the Discourses on Elocution, and on 
the Liberty of Music, are divine. He has added to 
his translations from Tacitus; and (what is re- 
markable) though that author's manner more nearly 
resembles the best French writers of the present 
age than any thing, he totally fails in the attempt. 
Is it his fault, or that of the language ? 

I have received another Scotch packet *, with a 



* Of the fragments of Erse poetry, many of 
which Mr. Gray saw in manuscript before they 
were published. In a letter to Dr. Wharton, written 
in the following month, he thus expresses himself 
on the same subject : * If you -have seen Mr. Ston- 
hewer, he has probably told you of my old Scotch 
(or rather Irish) poetry : I am gone mad about 
them ; they are said to be translations (literal and 
in prose) from the Erse tongue, done by one Mac- 
pherson, a young clergyman in the Highlands : he 
means to publish a collection he has of these spe- 
cimens of antiquity, if it be antiquity ; but what 
perplexes me is, I cannot come at any certainty on 
that head. I was so struck with their beauty, that I 
writ into Scotland to make a thousand inquiries ; 
the letters I have in return are ill wrote, ill rea- 
soned, unsatisfactory, calculated (one would ima- 
gine) to deceive, and yet not cunning enough to do 
it cleverly. In short, the whole external evidence 
would make one believe these fragments counter- 
feit; but the internal is so strong on the other side, 
that I am resolved to believe them genuine, spite 
of the devil and the kirk : it is impossible to con- 
ceive that they were written by the same man that 
writes me these letters ; on the other hand, it is al- 
most as hard to suppose (if they are original) that 
he should be able to translate them so admirably. 
In short, this man is the very demon of poetry, or 
he has lighted on a treasure hid for ages. The 



MR. GRAY. 365 

third specimen, inferior in kind (because it is 
merely description), but yet full of nature and noble 
wild imagination. Five bards pass the night at the 
castle of a chief (himself a principal bard) ; each 
goes out in his turn to observe the face of things, 
and returns with an extempore picture of the 
changes he has seen (it is an October night, the 
harvest-month of the Highlands). This is the 
whole plan ; yet there is a contrivance, and a pre- 
paration of ideas, that you would not expect. The 
oddest thing is, that every one of them sees ghosts 
(more or less). The idea, that struck and sur- 
prised me most, is the following. One of them 
(describing a storm of wind and rain) says, 

Ghosts ride on the tempest to-night : 

Sweet is their voice between the gusts of wind ; 

Their songs are of other worlds ! 

Did you never observe {while rocking winds are 
piping loud) that pause, as the gust is recollecting 
itself, and rising upon the ear in a shrill and plain- 
tive note, like the swell of an iEolian harp ? I do 
assure you there is nothing in the world so like the 
voice of a spirit. Thomson had an ear sometimes: 
he was not deaf to this ; and has described it glo- 
riously, but given it another different turn, and of 
more horror. I cannot repeat the lines : it is in 
his Winter. There is another very fine picture in 
one of them. It describes the breaking of the 
clouds after the storm, before it is settled into a 
calm, and when the moon is seen by short intervals. 

The waves are tumbling on the lake, 
And lash the rocky sides. 



Welch poets are also coming to light ; I have seen 
a discourse in manuscript about them, by one 
Mr. Evans, a clergyman, with specimens of their 
writing : this is in Latin ; and though it does not ap- 
proach the other, there are fine scraps among it.' 



see MEMOIRS OF 

The boat is brim-full in the cove, 

The oars on the rocking tide. 

Sad sits a maid beneath a cliff, 

And eyes the rolling stream : 

Her lover promised to come, 

She saw his boat (when it was evening) on the 

lake ; 
Are these his groans in the gale? 
Is this his broken boat on the shore * ? 



LETTER XXXVIII. 



MR. GRAY TO DR. CLARKE t. 

Pembroke-Hall, August 12, \*£o. 
NOT knowing whether you are yet returned from 
your sea-water, I write at random to you. For me, 



* The whole of this descriptive piece has been 
since published in a note to a poem, entitled 
Croma, (see Ossian's Poems, vol. 1st, p. 350, 8vo.) 
It is somewhat remarkable that the manuscript, in 
the translator's own hand, which I have in my 
possession, varies considerably from the printed 
copy. Some images are omitted, and others added. 
I will mention one which is not in the manuscript, 
the spirit of the mountain shrieks. In the tragedy 
of Douglas, published at least three years before, I 
always admired this fine line, the angry spirit of 
the water shrieked. — Quere, Did Mr. Home take 
this sublime image from Ossian, or has the trans- 
lator of Ossian since borrowed it from Mr. Home ? 
t Physician at Epsom. With this gentleman 
Mr. Gray commenced an early acquaintance at 
College. 



MR. GRAY. S67 

I am come to my resting-place, and find it very ne- 
cessary, after living for a month in a house with 
three women that laughed from morning to night, 
and would allow nothing to the sulkiness of my 
disposition. Company and cards at home, parties 
by land and water abroad, and (what they call) 
doing somethi?ig, that is, racketing about from 
morning to night, are occupations, I find, that 
wear out my spirits, especially in a situation where 
one might sit still, and be alone with pleasure ; for 
the place was a hill* like Clifden, opening to a 
very extensive and diversified landscape, with the 
Thames, which is navigable, running at its foot. 

I would wish to continue here (in a very different 
scene, it must be confessed) till Michaelmas; but I 
fear I must come to town much sooner. Cambridge 
is a delight of a place, now there is nobody in it. 
I do believe you would like it, if you knew what it 
was without inhabitants. It is they, I assure you, 
that get it an ill name and spoil all. Our friend 
Dr. * * t (one of its nuisances) is not expected here 
again in a hurry. He is gone to his grave with 
five fine rnackarel (large and full of roe) in his 
belly. He ate them all at one dinner; but his fate 
was a turbot on Trinity Sunday, of which he left 
little for the company besides bones. He had not 
been hearty all the week ; but after this sixth fish 
he never held up his head more, and a violent 
looseness carried him off. — They say he made a 
very good end. 

Have you seen the Erse Fragments since they 
were printed ? I am more puzzled than ever about 
their antiquity, though I still incline (against every 
body's opinion) to believe them old. Those you 
have already seen are the best ; though there are 
some others that are excellent too. 

* Near Henley. 

t Vide Letter XI. of this Section. 



368 MEMOIRS OF 

LETTER XXXIX. 

MR. GRAY TO MR, MASON. 

Cambridge, August 20, 1760. 
I HAVE sent Musaeus * back as you desired me, 
scratched here and there. And with it also a bloody 
satire t, written against no less persons than you 
and I by name. I concluded at first it was Mr. * * », 
because he is your friend and my humble servant ; 
but then I thought he knew the world too well to 
call us the favourite Minions of Taste and of Fashion, 
especially as to Odes. For to them his ridicule is 
confined ; so it is not he, but Mr. Colman, nephew 
to Lady Bath, author of the Connoisseur, a member 
of one of the inns of court, and a particular ac- 
quaintance of Mr. Garrick. What have you done 
to him? for I never heard his name before : he 
makes very tolerable fun with me where I under- 
stand him (which is not every where) ; but seems 
more angry with you. Lest people should not un- 
derstand the humour of the thing (which indeed to 
do they must have our lyricisms at their finger 
ends) letters come out in Lloyd's Evening Post to 
tell them who and what it was that he meant, and 
says it is like to produce a great combustion 
in the literary world. So if you have any mind to 
combustlc about it, well and good ; for me, I am 

* I had desired Mr. Gray to revise my Monody 
on Mr. Pope's Death, in order that I mightcorrect it 
for the edition I was then preparing of my Poems. 

t The parodies in question, entitled Odes to 
Obscurity and Oblivion, were written by Messrs. 
Lloyd and Colman, and have been reprinted since 
in Mr. Lloyd's Poems. 



MR. GRAY. 369 

neither so literary nor so combustible *. The 
Monthly Review, I see, just now has much stuff 
about us on this occasion. It says one of us at 
least has always borne his faculties meekly. I leave 
you to guess which of us that is ; I think I know. 
You simpleton you ! you must be meek, must you ? 
and see what you get by it. 

I do not like your improvements at Aston, it 
looks so like settling ; if 1 come I will set fire to 
it. I will never believe the B * * s and the C * * s 
are dead, though I smelt them ; that sort of people 
always live to a good old age. I dare swear they 
are only gone to Ireland, and we shall soon hear 
they are bishops. 

The Erse Fragments have been published five 
weeks ago in Scotland, though I had them not (by 
a mistake) till the other day. As you tell me new 
things do not reach you soon at Aston, I inclose 
what I can ; the rest shall follow, when you tell 
me whether you have not got the pamphlet al- 
ready. I send the two to Mr. Wood which I had 
before, because he has not the affectation of not 
admiring f. I have another from Mr. Macpher- 

* Had Mr. Pope disregarded the sarcasms of the 
many writers that endeavoured to eclipse his 
poetical fame, as much as Mr. Gray here appears 
to have done, the world would not have been pos- 
sessed of a Dunciad; but it would have been im- 
pressed with a more amiable idea of its author's 
temper. It is for the sake of showing how Mr. 
Gray felt on such occasions, that I publish this 
letter. 

+ It was rather a want of credulity than ad- 
miration that Mr. Gray should have laid to my 
charge. I suspected that, whether the Fragments 
were genuine or not, they were by no means lite- 
rally translated. I suspect so still ; and a former 
note gives a sufficient cause for that suspicion, 
See p. 366. 

R 2 



370 MEMOIRS OF 

son, which he has not printed; it is mere de- 
scription, but excellent too in its kind. If you are 
good and will learn to admire, I will transcribe and 
send it. 

As to their authenticity, I have made many in- 
quiries, and have lately procured a letter from Mr. 
David Hume (the historian), which is more satis- 
factory than any thing I have yet met with on that 
subject. He says, 

* Certain it is that these poems are in every 
body's mouth in the Highlands, have been handed 
down from father to son, and are of an age beyond 
all memory and tradition. Adam Smith, the ce- 
lebrated professor in Glasgow, told me, that the 
piper of the Argyleshire militia repeated to him 
all those which Mr. Macpherson had translated, 
and many more of equal beauty. Major Mackay 
(Lord Rae's brother) told me that he remembers 
them perfectly well ; as likewise did the Laird of 
Macfarline (the greatest antiquarian we have in 
this country), and who insists strongly on the hi- 
storical truth, as well as the poetical beauty of these 
productions. I could add the Laird and Lady 
Macleod, with many more, that live in different 
parts of the Highlands, very remote from each 
other, and could only be acquainted with what 
had become (in a manner) national works*. There 

* All this external evidence and much more has 
since been collected and published by Dr. Blair 
(see his Appendix to his Critical Dissertation on 
the Works of Ossian) ; and yet notwithstanding a 
later Irish writer has been hardy enough to assert, 
that the poems in question abound with the strangest 
anachronisms : for instance, that Cucullin lived in 
the first, and Fingal in the third century; two 
princes who are said to have made war with the 
Danes, a nation never heard of in Europe till the 
ninth ; which war could not possibly have hap- 
pened till 500 years after the death of the supposed 



MR. GRAY. 371 

is a country surgeon in Lochaber, who has by 
heart the entire epic poem mentioned by Mr. Mac- 
pherson in his preface ; and, as he is old, is per- 
haps the only person living that knows it all, and 
has never committed it to writing, we are in the 
more haste to recover a monument, which will 
certainly be regarded as a curiosity in the republic 
of letters : we have therefore set about a sub- 
scription of a guinea or two guineas a piece, in 
order to enable Mr. Macpherson to undertake a 
mission into the Highlands to recover this poem, 
and other fragments of antiquity.' He adds too, 
that the names of Fingal, Ossian, Oscar, &c. are 
still given in the Highlands to large mastiffs, as we 
give to ours the names of Cassar, Pompey, Hector, 
&c. 



LETTER XL. 



MR. GRAY TO DR. WHARTON. 

London, 176l. 
I REJOICE to find that you not only grow re- 
conciled to your northern scene, but discover beau- 
ties round you that once were deformities : I am 
persuaded the whole matter is to have always some- 
thing going forward. Happy .they that can create 
a rose-tree, or erect a honey-suckle ; that can watch 

poet who sings it. (See O'Halloran's Introduction 
to the Study of the History and Antiquities of Ire- 
land, quarto, 1772.) To whatever side of the 
question truth may lean, it is of little moment to 
me ; my doubts arising (as I have said in the former 
note) from internal evidence only, and a want of 
proof of the fidelity of the translation. 



372 MEMOIRS OP 

the brood of a hen, or see a fleet of their own duck- 
lings launch into the water : it is with a sentiment 
of envy I speak it, who never shall have even a 
thatched roof of my own, nor gather a strawberry 
but in Covent-Garden. I will not, however, be- 
lieve in the vocality of Old-Park till next summer, 
when perhaps I may trust to my own ears. 

The Nouvelle Helo'ise cruelly disappointed me, 
but it has its partisans, amongst which are Mason 
and Mr. Hurd ; for me, I admire nothing but Fin- 
gal* (I conclude you have seen it, if not, Ston- 
hewer can lend it you) ; yet I remain still in 
doubt about the authenticity of these poems, though 
inclining rather to believe them genuine in spite of 
the world : whether they are the inventions of an- 
tiquity, or of a modern Scotchman, either case is 
to me alike unaccountable; je m'y perd. 

I send you a Swedish and English Calendar f : 
the first column is by Berger, a disciple of Linnaeus ; 
the second by Mr. Stillingfleet ; the third (very im- 
perfect indeed)- by me. You are to observe, as 
you tend your plantations and take your walks, 
how the spring advances in the north, and whether 
Old-Park most resembles Upsal or Stratton. The 



* In a letter to another friend, informing him 
that he had sent Fingal down to him, he says, 
* For my part I will stick to my credulity, and if 
I am cheated, think it is worse for him (the 
translator) than for me. The epic poem is foolishly 
so called, yet there is a sort of plan and unity in it 
very strange for a barbarous age ; yet what I more 
admire are some of the detached pieces — the rest I 
leave to the discussion of antiquarians and hi- 
storians ; yet my curiosity is much interested in 
their decision.' No man surely ever took move 
pains with himself to believe any thing than Mr 
Gray seems to have done on this occasion. 

t See Stillingfleet's Tracts, p. 26 1. 



MR. GRAY. 373 

latter has on one side a barren black heath, on the 
other a light sandy loam, all the country about it 
is a dead flat ; you see it is necessary you should 
know the situation (I do not mean any reflection 
upon any body's place) ; and this is the description 
Mr. Stillingfleet gives of his friend Mr. Marsham's 
seat, to which he retires in the summer and bo- 
tanizes. I have lately made an acquaintance with 
this philosopher, who lives in a garret here in the 
winter, that he may support some near relations 
who depend upon him ; he is always employed, 
consequently (according to my old maxim) always 
happy, always cheerful, and seems to me a very 
worthy honest man : his present scheme is to send 
some persons properly qualified to reside a year or 
two in Attica, to make themselves acquainted with 
the climate, productions, and natural history of 
the country, that we may understand Aristotle, 
Theophrastus, &c. who have been heathen Greek 
to us for so many ages ; and this he has got pro- 
posed to Lord Bute, no unlikely person to put it 
into execution, as he is himself a botanist. 



LETTER XLL 



MR. GRAY TO MR. MASON. 

London, Jan. 22, 176l. 
I CANNOT pity you ; au con tr aire, I wish I had 
been at Aston, when I was foolish enough to go 
through the six volumes of the Nouvelle Heldise. 
All I can say for myself is, that I was confined for 
three weeks at home by a severe cold, and had 
nothing better to do : there is no one event in it 
that might not happen any day of the week (se- 
parately taken) in any private family; yet these 



374 MEMOIRS OF 

events are so put together, that the series of them 
is more absurd and more improbable than Amadis 
de Gaul. The dramatis persona? (as the author 
says) are all of them good characters ; I am sorry 
to hear it : for had they been all hanged at the end 
of the third volume, nobody (I believe) would have 
cared. In short, I went on and on, in hopes of 
finding some wonderful denoue?nent that would set 
all right, and bring something like nature and in- 
terest out of absurdity and insipidity: no such 
thing, it grows worse and worse ; and (if it be 
Rousseau's, which is not doubted) is the strongest 
instance I ever saw, that a very extraordinary man 
may entirely mistake his own talents. By the 
motto and preface,, it appears to be his own story, 
or something similar to it *. 

The Opera-house is crowded this year like any 
ordinary theatre. Elisi is finer than any thing 
that has been here in your memory : yet, as I sus- 
pect, has been finer than he is : he appears to be 
near forty, a little pot-bellied and thick-shouldered, 
otherwise no bad figure ; his action proper, and 
not ungraceful. We have heard nothing, since I 
remember operas, but eternal passages, divisions, 
and flights of execution : of these he has absolutely 
none ; whether merely from judgment, or a little 
from age, I will not affirm ; his point is expression, 
and to that all the graces and ornaments he inserts 
(which are few and short) are evidently directed : 
he goes higher (they say) than Farinelli; but then 

* If it be considered that Mr. Gray always pre- 
ferred expression and sentiment to the arrange- 
ment of a story, it may seem somewhat extra- 
ordinary that the many striking beauties of these 
kinds, with which this singular work abounds, were 
not excepted from so general a censure : for my 
own part (to use a phrase of his own) « they strike 
me blind' to all the defects which he has here 
enumerated. 



MR. GRAY. 375 

this celestial note you do not hear above once in a 
whole opera; and he falls from this altitude at 
once to the mellowest, softest, strongest tones 
(about the middle of his compass) that can be heard, 
The Mattei, I assure you, is much improved by 
his example, and by her great success this winter ; 
but then the burlettas, and the Paganina, I have 
not been so pleased with any thing these many 
years : she too is fat, and above forty, yet hand- 
some withal, and has a face that speaks the language 
of all nations : she has not the invention, the fire, 
and the variety of action that the Spiletta had ; 
yet she is Lght, agile, ever in motion, and above all 
graceful ; but then her voice, her ear, her taste in 
singing : Good God — as Mr. Richardson the painter 
says. Pray, ask Lord ***; for I think I have 
seen him there once or twice, as much pleased as 
I was. 



LETTER XLIL 

MR. GRAY TO MR. MASON. 

August, 176l. 
BE assured your York canon never will die ; so the 
better the thing is in value, the worse for you*. 
The true way to immortality is to get you nomi- 
nated one's successor: age and diseases vanish at 
your name ; fevers turn to radical heat, and fistulas 
to issues : it is a judgment that waits on your in- 



* This was written at a time, when, by the favour 
of Dr. Fountayne, dean of York, I expected to be 
made a residentiary in his cathedral. 



376 MEMOIRS OF 

satiable avarice. You could not let the poor old 
man die at his ease, when he was about it ; and all 
his family (I suppose) are cursing you for it. 

I wrote to Lord * * * * on his recovery ; and he 
answers me very cheerfully, as if his illness had 
been but slight, and the pleurisy were no more than 
a hole in one's stocking. He got it (he says) not 
by scampering, racketing, and riding post, as I had 
supposed ; but by going with ladies to Vauxhall. 
He is the picture (and pray so tell him, if you see 
him) of an old alderman that I knew, who, after 
living forty years on the fat of the land (not milk 
and honey, but arrack punch and venison), and 
losing his great toe with a mortification, said to the 
last, that he owed it to two grapes, which he ate 
one day after dinner. He felt them lie cold at his 
stomach the minute they were down. 

Mr. Montagu (as I guess, at your instigation) has 
earnestly desired me to write some lines to be put 
on a monument, which he means to erect at Bell- 
isle*. It is a task I do not love, knowing Sir 
William Williams so slightly as I did : but he is so 
friendly a person, and his affliction seemed to me 
so real, that I could not refuse him. I have sent 
him the following verses, which I neither like my- 
self, nor will he, I doubt : however, I have showed 
him that I wished to oblige him. Tell me your real 
opinion. 



* See page 44. 






MR. GRAY. 377 



LETTER XLIII. 



MR. GRAY TO DR. WHARTON". 



Cambridge, Dee. 4, 17&2 . 
I FEEL very ungrateful e^ery day that I continue 
silent ; and yet now that I take my pen in hand I 
have only time to tell you, that of all the places 
which I saw in my return from you, Hardwicke 
pleased me the most*. One would think that 
Mary, Queen of Scots, was but just walked down 
into the park with her guard for half an hour ; her 
gallery, her room of audience, her ante-chamber, 
with the very canopies, chair of state, footstool, 
lit de repos, oratory, carpets, and hangings, just as 
she left them : a little tattered indeed, but the more 
venerable; and all preserved with religious care, 
and papered up in winter. 

When I arrived in London I found Professor 
Turner f had been dead above a fortnight ; and 
being cockered and spirited up by some friends 
(though it was rather the latest) I got my name 
suggested to Lord Bute. You may easily imagine 
who undertook it, and indeed he did it with zeal j. 
I received my answer very soon, which was what 
you may easily imagine, but joined with great pro- 

* A seat of the Duke of Devonshire, in Derby- 
shire. 

+ Professor of Modern Languages in the Uni- 
versity of Cambridge. 

J This person was the late Sir Henry Erskine. 
As this was the only application Mr. Gray ever 
made to ministry, I thought it necessary to insert 
his own account of it. The place in question was 
given to the tutor of Sir James Lowther. 



378 MEMOIRS OF 

fessions of his desire to serve me on future occa- 
sions, and many more fine words that I pass over, 
not out of modesty, but for another reason : so you 
see I have made my fortune like Sir Francis Wrong- 
head. This nothing is a profound secret, and no 
one here suspects it even now. To-day I hear Mr. 
E. Delaval * has got it, but we are not yet certain; 
next to myself I wished for him. 

You see we have made a peace. I shall be silent 
about it, because if I say any thing anti-ministerial, 
you will tell me you know the reason; and if I 
approve it, you will think I have my expectations 
still. All I know is, that the Duke of Newcastle 
anfl Lord Hard wick both say it is an excellent 
peace, and only Mr. Pitt calls it inglorious and in- 
sidious. 



LETTER XLIV. 

MR. GRAY TO MR. MASON. 

February 8, 1763. 
DOCTISSIME Domine, anne tibi arrident com- 
plimenta t ? If so, I hope your vanity is tickled 

* Fellow of Pembroke- Hall, and of the Royal 
Society. 

f William Taylor Howe, Esq. of Stondon Place, 
near Chipping-Ongar, in Essex, an honorary Fellow 
of Pembroke- Hall, was now on his travels in Italy, 
where he had made an acquaintance with the cele- 
brated Count Algarotti, and had recommended to 
him Mr. Gray's poems and my dramas. After the 
perusal he received a letter from the count, written 
in that style of superlative panegyric peculiar to 



MR. GRAY. 379 

with the verghe cToro of Count Algarotti, and the 
intended translation of Sigi". Agostino Paradisi : 
for my part, I am ravished (for I too have my 
share). Are you upon the road to see all these 
wonders, and snuff up the incense of Pisa ; or has 
Mr. Brown abated your ardour by sending you the 
originals ? I am waiting with impatience for your 
coming. 

I am obliged to you for your drawing and very 
learned dissertation annexed*. You have made 
out your point with a great degree of probability 
(for though the nimis adhcesit might startle one, 

Italians. A copy of this letter Mr. Howe had just 
now sent to our common friend Mr. Brown, then 
president of the college ; and also another of the 
count's, addressed to Sig r . Paradisi, a Tuscan poet; 
in which, after explaining the arguments of my 
two dramatic poems, he advises him to translate 
them ; but principally Caractacus. — This anecdote 
not only explains the above paragraph, but the 
subsequent letter. The Latin, at the beginning of 
the letter, alludes to a similar expression which a 
fellow of a college had made use of to a foreigner 
who dined in the college hall. Having occasion to 
ask him if he would eat any cabbage to his boiled 
beef, he said e anne tibi arrident herbae ?' 

* This relates to the ruin of a small Gothic chapel 
near the north-west end of the cathedral at York, 
not noticed by Drake in his Eboracum. When 
Mr. Gray made me a visit at that place the summer 
before, he was much struck with the beautiful pro- 
portion of the windows in it, which induced me to 
get Mr. Paul Sandby to make a drawing of it ; and 
also to endeavour, in a letter to Mr. Gray, to ex- 
plain to what foundation it belonged. As his 
answer contains some excellent general remarks on 
Gothic building, I thought proper to publish it, 
though the particular matter which occasioned 
them was not of any great consequence. 



380 MEMOIRS OF 

yet the sale of the tithes and chapel to Webster 
seems to set all right again), and I do believe the 
building in question was the chapel of St. Sepulchre. 
But then, that the ruin now standing was the in- 
dividual chapel as erected by Archbishop Roger, I 
can by no means think : I found myself merely on 
the style and taste of architecture. The vaults 
under the choir are still in being, and were un- 
doubtedly built by this very archbishop : they are 
truly Saxon; only that the arches are pointed, 
though very obtusely. It is the south transept 
(not the north) that is the oldest part of the minster 
now above ground : it is said to have been begun 
by Geffery Plantagenet, who died about thirty years 
after Roger, and left it unfinished. His successor, 
Walter Grey, completed it ; so we do not exactly 
know to which of these two prelates we are to 
ascribe any certain part of it. Grey lived a long 
time, and was archbishop from 1216 to 1255 (39 
Henry III.) ; and in this reign it was, that the 
beauty of the Gothic architecture began to appear. 
The chapter-house is in all probability his work, 
and (I should suppose) built in his latter days ; 
whereas what he did of the south transept might 
be performed soon after his accession. It is in the 
second order of this building, that the round arches 
appear including a row of pointed ones (which you 
mention, and which I also observed), similar to 
those in St. Sepulchre's chapel, though far inferior 
in the proportions and neatness of workmanship. 
The same thing is repeated in the north transept; 
but this is only an imitation of the other, done for 
the sake/of regularity ; for this part of the building 
is no older than Archbishop Romaine, who came 
to the see in 1285, and died 1295. 

All the buildings of Henry the Second's time 
(under whom Roger lived and died, 1185) are of a 
clumsy and heavy proportion, with a few rude and 
awkward ornaments ; and this style continues to 
the beginning of Henry the Third's reign, though 



MR. GRAY. 381 

with a little improvement, as in the nave of Foun- 
tain's abbey, &c. then all at once come in the tall 
picked arches, the light clustered columns, the 
capitals of curling foliage, the fretted tabernacles 
and vaultings, and a profusion of statues, &c. that 
constitute the good Gothic style ; together with de- 
creasing and flying buttresses, and pinnacles, on 
the outside. Nor must you conclude any thing 
from Roger's own tomb, which has (I remember) a 
wide surbased arch with scalloped ornaments, &c. ; 
for this can be no older than the nave itself, which 
was built by Archbishop Melton after the year 
1315, one hundred and thirty years after Roger's 
death. 

I have compared Helvetius and Elfrida, as you 
desired me *, and find thirteen parallel passages ; 

* As the plagiarism, to which Mr. Gray here 
alludes, is but little known, and, I think, for its 
singularity, is somewhat curious, I shall beg the 
reader's patience while I dilate upon it ; though I 
am aware it will stretch this note to an uncon- 
scionable length. M. Helvetius, in the third chapter 
of his third Essay de l'Esprit, which treats of the 
Extent of Memory, means to prove that this faculty, 
in the extreme, is not necessary to constitute a 
great genius. For this purpose he examines whether 
the greatness of the very different talents of Locke 
and of Milton ought to be considered as the effect 
of their possessing this talent in an extraordinary 
degree. He then proceeds as follows : ' As the last 
example of the small extent of memory necessary 
to a fine imagination, I shall give in a note the 
translation of a piece of English poetry j which, 
with the preceding, will, I believe, prove to those 
who would decompose the works of illustrious 
men, that a great genius does not necessarily sup- 
pose a great memory.' I now set down that note 
with references to Elfrida underneath it, and I 
choose to give it in the English translation printed 



382 MEMOIRS OF 

five of which, at least, are so direct and close as to 

leave no shadow of a doubt, and therefore confirm 



in 1759, that the parallel passages may be the 
more obvious at first sight. * A young Virgin, 
awaked and guided by Love, goes before the ap- 
pearance of Aurora to a valley, where she waits 
for the coming of her lover, who, at the rising of 
the sun, is to offer a sacrifice to the .gods. Her 
soul, in the soft situation in which she is placed by 
the hopes of approaching happiness, indulges, while 
waiting for him, the pleasure of contemplating the 
beauties of nature, and the rising of that luminary 
that was to bring the object of her tenderness. 8 
She expresses herself thus : 

e Already the sun gilds the tops of those antique 
oaks, and the waves of those falling torrents that 
roar among the rocks shine with his beams ; al- 
ready I perceive the summit of those shaggy ! 
mountains whence arise the vaults which, half i 
concealed in the air, offer a formidable retreat 
to the solitary who there retires (I). Night folds 
up her veil. Ye wanton fires, that mislead the 
wandering traveller, retire (2) to the quagmires 
and marshy fens; and thou sun, lord of the 
heavens, who fittest the air with reviving heat, 
who sowest with dewy pearls the flowers of these 
meadows, and givest colours to the varied beauties 

(1) How nobly does this venerable wood, 
Gilt with the glories of the orient sun, 
Embosom yon fair mansion ! 

On the shaggy mound, 

Where tumbling torrents roar around; 
Where pendent mountains o'er your head 

Stretch a formidable shade 

Where lull'd in pious peace the hermit lies. 

(Q) Away, ye goblins all, 

Wont the bewilder'd traveller to daunt. — 



MR. GRAY. S83 

all the rest. It is a phenomenon that you will be 
in the right to inform yourself about, and which I 

of nature, receive my first homage (3), and hasten 
thy course. Thy appearance proclaims that of my 
lover. Freed from the pious cares that detain 
him still at the foot of the altars, love will soon 
bring him to mine (4). Let all around me partake 
of my joy. Let all bless the rising luminary by 
which we are enlightened. Ye flowers that inclose 
in your bosoms the odours that cool night condenses 
there, open your buds, and exhale in the air your 
l>almy vapours. I know not whether the delight- 
ful intoxication that possesses my soul does not 
embellish whatever I behold ; but the rivulet, that 
in pleasing meanders winds along this valley, en- 
chants me with its murmurs. Zephyr us caresses 
me with his breath ; the fragrant plants, pressed 
under my feet, waft to my senses their perfume* 
Oh! if Felicity sometimes condescends to visit the 
abode of mortals, to these places, doubtless, she 
retires (6). But with what secret trouble am I 
agitated? Already impatience mingles its poison 

(S) Hail to thy living light, 

Ambrosial Morn 

That bids each dewy-spangled flow'ret rise, 

And dart around its vermil dies 

Unfolds the scene of glory to our eye, 
Where, throned in artless majesty, 
The cherub Beauty sits on Nature's rustic shrine. 
(4) 'Twill not be long, ere his unbending mind 
Shall lose-in sweet oblivion every care 
Among th' embowering shades that veil Elfrida. 
(5) The soft air 
Salutes me with most cool and temperate breath, 
And, as I tread, the flow'r- besprinkled lawn 
Sends up a gale of fragrance. I should guess, 
If e'er Content deign*d visit mortal clime,. 
This was her place of dearest residence. 



384 - MEMOIRS OF 

long to understand. Another phenomenon is, that 
I read it without finding it out : all I remember is, 



with the sweetness of my expectation. This valley 
has already lost all its beauties. Is joy then so 
fleeting ? It is as easy to snatch it from us, as for 
the light down of these plants to be blown away 
by the breath of the Zephyrs (6). In vain have I 
recourse to flattering hope. Each moment in- 
creases my disturbance. He will come no more. 
Who keeps him at a distance from me ? What duty 
more sacred than that of calming the inquietudes 
of love ! But what do I say ? Fly jealous suspicions, 
injurious to his fidelity (7), and formed to ex- 
tinguish my tenderness. If jealousy grows by the 
side of love, it will stifle it, if not pulled up by 
the roots ; it is the ivy which, by a verdant chain, 
embraces, but dries up the trunk which serves for 
its support (8). I know my lover too well to doubt 
of his tenderness. He, like me, has, far from the 
pomp of courts, sought the tranquil asylum of the 
fields. Touched by the simplicity of my heart, 
and by my beauty, my sensual rivals call him in 
vain to their arms. Shall he be seduced by the ad- 
vances of coquetry, which, on the cheek of the 
young maid, tarnishes the snow of innocence and 
the carnation of modesty, and daubs it with the 

(£) For safety now sits wav'ring on your love, 
Like the light down upon the thistle's beard, 
Which ev'ry breeze may part. 

(7) Avaunt ! ye vain delusive fears. 

(8) See, Elfrida; 
Ah see ! how round yon branching elm the ivy 
Clasps its green chain, and poisons what sup- 
ports it. 
Not less injurious to the shoots of love 
Is sickly jealousy. 



MR. GRAY. 385 

that I thought it not at all English, and did not 
much like it ; and the reason is plain, for the lyric 

whiteness of art and the paint of effrontery (9) ? 
What do I say ? his contempt for her is perhaps 
only a snare for me. Can I be ignorant of the 
partiality of men, and the arts they employ to 
seduce us ? Nourished in a contempt for our sex, 
it is not us, it is their pleasures that they love. 
Cruel as they are, they have placed in the rank of 
the virtues the barbarous fury of revenge, and the 
mad love of their country; but never have they 
reckoned fidelity among the virtues. Without re- 
morse they abuse innocence, and often their vanity 
contemplates our griefs with delight. But no ; fly 
far from me, ye odious thoughts, my lover will 
come ! A thousand times have I experienced it : 
. as soon as I perceive him my agitated mind is 
calm, and loften forget the too just cause Ihave. 
for complaint ; for near him I can only know 
happiness (10). Yet if he is treacherous to me ; if, 
in the very moment when my love excuses him, 
he consummates the crime of infidelity in another 
bosom, may all nature take up arms in revenge ! 
may he perish ! What do I say ? Ye elements, be 
deaf to my cries ! Thou earth, open not thy pro- 
found abyss ! let the monster walk the time pre* 
scribed him on thy splendid surface, let him 

(9) ~ To guard 

Your beauties from the blast of courtly gales. 
The crimson blush of virgin modesty, 
The delicate soft tints of innocence, 
There all fly off, and leave no boast behind 
But well-ranged, faded features. 

(10) My truant heart 

Forgets each lesson that resentment taught, 
And in thy sight knows only to be happy. 

In the French it is more literal, « Pres de 1-ui je ne 

scais qu' etre heureuse.' 

s 



386 MEMOIRS OF 

flights and choral flowers suited not in the least 
with the circumstances or character of the speaker, 
as he had contrived it. 

still commit new crimes, and still cause the tears 
of the too credulous maids to flora ; and if Heaven 
avenges them and punishes him, may it at least 
be at the prayer of some other unfortunate 
woman (11).' 

Here ends this odd instance of plagiarism. When 
M. Helvetius was in England, a year or two after 
I had made the discovery of it, I took my measures 
(as Mr. Gray advised me) to learn how he came by 
it ; and accordingly requested two noblemen, to 
whom he was introduced, to ask him some questions 
concerning it ; but I could gain no satisfactory 
answer. I do not, however, by any means, sup- 
pose that the person who cooked up the disjointed 
parts of my drama into this strange fricasee was 
&£. Helvetius himself; I rather imagine (as I did 
from the first) that he was imposed upon by some 
young English traveller, who contrived this expe- 
dient in order to pass with him for a poet. The 
great philosopher, it is true, has in this note been 
proved to be the receiver of stolen goods; but out 
of respect to his numerous fashionable disciples, 
both abroad and at home, whose credit might suffer 
with that of their master, I acquit him of what 
would only be held criminal at the Old Bailey, 
that he received these goods knowing them to be 
stolen. 

m) Till then, ye elements, rest; and thou, firm 
earth, 
Ope not thy yawning jaws ; but let this monster 
Stalk his due time on thine affrighted surface : 
Yes, let him still go on, still execute 
His savage purposes, and daily make 
More widows weep, as I do. 



MR. GRAY, 



LETTER XLV. 

MR. GRAY TO MR. BROWN*. 

February 17, 17#3. 
YOU will make my best acknowledgments to Mr* 
Howe ; who, not content to rank me in the number 
of his friends, is so polite as to make excuses for 
having done me that honour. 

I was not born so far from the sun, as to be ig- 
norant of Count Algarottr s name and reputation ; 
nor am I so far advanced in years, or in philosophy, 
as not to feel the warmth of his approbation. The 
odes in question, as their motto shows, were meant 
to be vocal to the intelligent alone. How few 
they were in my own country, Mr. Howe can tes- 
tify ; and yet my ambition was terminated by that 
small circle. I have good reason to be proud, if 
my voice has reached the ear and apprehension of 
a stranger, distinguished as one of the best judges 
in Europe. 

I am equally pleased with the just applause he 
bestows on Mr. Mason; and particularly on his 
Caractacus, which is the work of a man : whereas 
Elfrida is only that of a boy, a promising boy in- 
deed, and of no common genius ; yet this is the 
popular performance, and the other little known in 
comparison. 

Neither Count Algarotti nor Mr. Howe (I be- 
lieve) have heard of Ossian, the son of Fingal. If 
Mr. Howe were not upon the wing, and on his way 
homewards, I would send it to him in Italy. He 
would there see that Imagination dwelt many hun- 
dred years ago, in all her pomp, on the cold and 

* Now master of Pembroke-halL 



3fc>8 MEMOIRS OF 

barren mountains of Scotland. The truth (I be- 
lieve) is, that, without any respect of climates, she 
reigns in all nascent societies of men, where the 
necessities of life force every one to think and act 
much for himself*. 



LETTER XLVI. 

COUNT ALGAROTTI TO MR. GRAY. 

Pisa, 24 Aprile, l?6.3. 
SONO stato lungo tempo in dubbio se un dilet- 
tante quale io sono, dovea mandare alcune sue 
coserelle a un professore quale e V. S. illustrissimo, 
a un arbitro di ogni poetica eleganza. Ne ci volea 
meno che l'autorita del valorissimo Signor How per 
persuadermi a cio fare. V. S. illustrissimo accolga 
queste mie coserelle con quella medesima bonta 
con cui ha voluto accogliere quella lettera che dice 
pur poco delle tante cose, che fanno sentire alle 
anime armoniche di ammirabili suoi versi. Io saro 

* One is led to think from this paragraph that 
the scepticism, which Mr. Gray had expressed be- 
fore, concerning these works of Ossian, was now 
entirely removed (p. 364). I know no way of ac- 
counting for this (as he had certainly received no 
stronger evidence of their authenticity) but from 
the turn of his studies at the time. He had of late 
much busied himself in antiquities, and conse- 
quently had imbibed too much of the spirit of a 
professed antiquarian ; now we know, from a thou* 
sand instances, that no set of men are more willingly 
duped than these, especially by any thing that comes 
to them under the fascinating form of a new dis- 
covery. 



MR. GRAY. 389 

per quanto io porrd, Praco laudum tuarum, e 
quella mia lettera si stampera in un nuovo gior- 
naie, che si fa in. Venezia, intitolato la Minerva, 
perche sappia la Italia che la Inghilterra, ricca di 
un * Omero, di uno tArchimede, di un jDemo- 
stene, non manca delsuo Pindaro. Al Signor How 
le non saprei dire quanti obblighi io abbia, ma si 
maggiore £ certaraente quello di avermi presentato 
alia sua musa, e di avermi procurato la occasione 
di poterla assicurare della perfetta ed altissima 
stima, con cui io ho l'honore di sottescrivermi, 
De V. S. illustrissimo 
Devotis, &c. 

ALGAROTTI. 



LETTER XLVII. 

MR. GRAY TO DR. WHARTON. 

Pembroke-hall, Aug. 5, 1763. 
YOU may well wonder at my long taciturnity. I 
wonder too, and know not what cause to assign ; 
for it is certain I think of you daily. I believe it 
is owing to the nothingness of my history; for ex- 
cept six weeks that I passed in town towards the 
end of the spring, and a little jaunt to Epsom and 
Box-hill, 1 have been here time out of mind, in a 
place where no events grow, though we preserve 
those of former days, by way of hortus siccus in 
our libraries. 

I doubt you have not yet read Rousseau's Emile. 
Every body that has children should read it more 



* Milton. f Newton. % Mr. Pitt. 



390 MEMOIRS OF 

than once ; for though it abounds with his usual 
glorious absurdity, though his general scheme of 
education be an impracticable chimera, yet there 
are a thousand lights struck out, a thousand im- 
portant truths better expressed than ever they 
were before, that may be of service to the wisest 
men. Particularly I think he has observed children 
with more attention, and knows their meaning and 
, the working of their little passions better than any 
other writer. As to his religious discussions, which 
have alarmed the world, and engaged their thoughts 
more than any other part of his book, I set them 
all at nought, and wish they had been omitted *. 



* That I may put together the rest of Mr. Gray's 
sentiments concerning this singular writer, I insert 
here an extract from a letter of later date, written 
to myself. ' I have not read the Philosophic Dic- 
tionary. I can now stay with great patience for 
any thing that comes from Voltaire. They tell rnc 
it is frippery, and blasphemy, and wit. I could 
have forgiven myself if I had not read Rousseau's 
Lettres de la Montagne. Always excepting the 
Contract Social, it is the dullest performance ho 
ever published. It is a weak attempt to separate 
the miracles from the morality of the gospel. The 
latter (he would have you think) he believes was sent 
from God ; and the former he very explicitly takes 
for an imposture : this is in order to prove the cruelty 
and injustice of the state of Geneva in burning his 
Emile. The latter part of his book is to show the 
abuses that have crept into the constitution of his 
country, which point (if you are concerned about 
it) he makes out very well ; and his intention in 
this is plainly to raise a tumult in the city, and to 
be revenged on the Petit Conscil, who condemned 
his writings to the flames.' 



MR. GRAY. 391 



LETTER XL VIII. 

MR. GRAY TO MR, PALGRAVE *. 

March, 1"6o. 
MY instructions, of which you are so desirous, are 
two-fold : the first part relates to what is past, and 
that will be rather diffuse : the second, to what is 
to come ; and that we shall treat more succinctly, 
and with all due brevity. 

First, when you come to Paris you will not fail 
to visit the cloister of the Chartreuse, w r here Le 
Sueur (in the history of St. Bruno) has almost 
equalled Raphael. Then your gothic inciinaticis 
will naturally lead you to the Sainte Chapelle built 
by St. Louis : in the treasury is preserved one of 
the noblest gems cf the Augustan age. When you 
take a trip into the country, there is a fine old 
chapel at Yincennes with admirable painted win- 
dows ; and at Fontainbleau, the remains of Francis 
the First's magnificence might give you some plea- 
sure. In VGur way to Lyons you will take notice 
of the view over the Saone, from about Tournus 
and Macon. Fail not to walk a few miles along 
the banks of the Rhone, down the river. I would 
certainly make a little journey to the Grande 
Chartreuse, up the mountains : at your return out 
of Italy this will have little effect. At Turin you 
will visit the Capuchins' convent just without the 
city, and the Superga at no great distance, for the 
sake of the views. At Genoa observe the Terreno 
of the Palace Brignoli, as a model of an apartment 
elegantly disposed in a hot climate. At Parma 

* Mr. Gray's correspondent was now making the 
tour of France and Italy. 



392 MEMOIRS OF 

you will adore the great Madonna and St. Jerom, 
once at St. Antonio Abbate, but now (I am told) in 
the ducal palace. In the Madonna della Steecata 
observe the Moses breaking the tables, a chiaro- 
scuro figure of the Parmeggiano at too great a height, 
and ill lighted, but immense. At the Capuchins, 
the great Pieta of Annib. Caracci ; in the Villa 
Ducale, the room painted by Carlo Cignani ; and 
the last works of Agostino Caracci at Modena *. I 

* When our author was himself in Italy, he 
studied with much attention the different manners 
of the old masters. I find a paper written at the 
time in which he has set down several subjects 
proper for painting, which he had never seen 
executed, and has affixed the names of different 
masters to each piece, to show which of their 
pencils he thought would have been most proper to 
treat it. As I doubt not but this paper will be an 
acceptable present to the Reynoldses and Wests of 
the age, I shall here insert it. 

' An Altar-piece. — Guido. 

The top, a heaven ; in the middle, at a distance, 
the Padre-Eterno indistinctly seen, and lost, as it 
were, in glory. On either hand, angels of all 
degrees in attitudes of adoration and wonder. A 
little lower, and next the eye, supported on the 
wings of seraphs, Christ (the principal figure) with 
an air of calm and serene majesty, his hand ex- 
tended, as commanding the elements to their se- 
veral places : near him an angel of superior rank 
bearing the golden compasses (that Milton describes); 
beneath, the chaos, like a dark and turbulent ocean, 
only illumined by the spirit, who is brooding over 
it. 

A small picture. — Correggio. 

Eve newly created, admiring her own shadow in 
the lake. 

The famous Venus of this master, now in the 
possession of Sir William Hamilton, proves how 



MR. GRAY. 393 

know not what remains now; the flower of the 
collection is gone to Dresden. Bologna is too vast 

judiciously Mr. Gray fixed upon his pencil for 
the execution of this charming subject. M. 
Another. — Domenichino. 
Medea in a pensive posture, with revenge and 
maternal affection striving in her visage ; her two 
children at play, sporting with one another before 
her. On one side a bust of Jason, to which they 
bear some resemblance. 

A statue. — Michael Angelo. 
Agave in the moment she returns to her senses ; 
the head of her son, fallen on the ground from her 
hand. 

Vide Ovid. Met. lib. iii. 1. 701, &c. M. 

A picture. — Salvator Rosa. 
iEneas and the Sybil sacrificing to Pluto by 
torch-light in the wood, the assistants in a fright. 
The day beginning to break, so as dimly to show 
the mouth of the cavern. 

Sigismonda with the heart of Guiscardo before 
her. I have seen a small print on this subject, 
where the expression is admirable, said to be graved 
from a picture of Correggio. 

Afterwards , when he had seen the original in 
the possessioji of the late Sir Luke Schaub, he 
always expressed the highest admiration of itj 
though we see, by his here giving it to Salvator 
Rosa, he thought the subject too horrid to be 
treated by Correggio ; and indeed I believe it is 
agreed that the capital picture in question is not 
of his hand. M. 

Another. — Albano, or the Parmeggiano. 
Iphigenia asleep by the fountain- side, her maids 
about her ; Cymon gazing and laughing. 

This subject has been often treated ; once in- 

\ deed very curiously by Sir Peter Lely, in the 

way of portrait, when his sacred Majesty Charles 

the Second represented Cymon, and the Duchess 

S 2 



394: MEMOIRS OF 

a subject for me to treat : the palaces and churches 
are open ; you have nothing to do but to see them 
all. In coming down the Apennine you will see 
(if the sun shines) all Tuscany before you. And 
so I have brought you to Florence, where to be 
sure there is nothing worth seeing. Secondly, 

1. Vide, quodcunque videndum est. 

2. Quodcunque ego non vidi, id tu vide. 

of Cleveland and Mrs. Eleanor Gwin {in as in- 
decent attitudes as his royal taste could prescribe) 
were Iphigenia and her attendants. M. 

Another. — Domenichino, or the Caracci. 
Electra with the urn, in which she imagined were 
her brother's ashes, lamenting over them ; Orestes 
smothering his concern. 

Another. — Correggio. 
Ithuriel and Zephon entering the bower of Adam 
and Eve; they sleeping. The light to proceed 
from the angels. 

Another. — Nicholas Poussin. 
Aloestis dying ; her children weeping, and hang- 
ing upon her robe ; the youngest of them, a little 
boy, crying too, but appearing rather to do so, be- 
cause the others are afflicted, than from any sense 
of the reason of their sorrow : her right arm should 
be round this, her left extended towards the rest, 
as recommending them to her lord's care; he 
fainting, and supported by the attendants. 
Salvator Rosa. 
Hannibal passing the Alps; the mountaineers 
rolling down rocks upon his army ; elephants 
tumbling down the precipices. 

Another. — Domenichino. 
Arria giving Claudius's order to Paetus, and 
stabbing herself at the same time. 

N. Poussin, or Le Sueur. 
Virginius murdering his daughter; Appius at a 
distance, starting up from his tribunal ; the people 
amazed, but few of them seeing the action itself.' 



MR. GRAY. 395 

3. Quodcunquo videris, scribe et describe; me- 

moriae ne fide. 

4. Scribendo nil admirare ; et cum pictor non sis, 

verbis omnia depinge. 
6. Tritam viatorum compitam calca, et cum po- 

teris, desere. 
6. Erne, quodcunque emendum est ; I do not mean 
pictures, medals, gems, drawings, &c. only ; 
but clothes, stockings, shoes, handkerchiefs, 
little moveables ; every thing you may want all 
your life long ; but have a care of the custom- 
house. 

Pray present my most respectful compliments to 
Mr. Weddeli *. I conclude when the winter is 
over, and you have seen Rome and Naples, you 
will strike out of the beaten path of English tra- 
vellers, and see a little of the country, throw your- 
selves into the bosom of the Apennine, survey the 
horrid lake of Amsanctus (look in Cluver's Italy), 
catch the breezes on the coast of Taranto and 
Salerno, expatiate to the very toe of the continent, 
perhaps strike over the Faro of Messina, and 
having measured the gigantic columns of Girgenti, 
and the tremendous caverns of Syracusa, refresh 
yourselves amidst the fragrant vale of Enna. Oh ! 
ehe bel riposo ! Addio. 



* William Weddeli, Esq. of Newby in York- 
shire. 



S96 MEMOIRS OF 



LETTER XLIX. 

MR. GRAY TO MR. BEATTIE *. 

Glames-castle, Sept. 8, 1765. 
A LITTLE journey I have been making to Ar~ j 
broath has been the cause that I did not answer 
your very obliging letter so soon as I ought to have 
done. A man of merit, that honours me with his 
esteem, and has the frankness to tell me so, doubt- 
less can need no excuses : his apology is made, and 
we are already acquainted, however distant from 
each other. 

I fear I cannot (as I would wish) do myself the 
pleasure of waiting on you at Aberdeen, being 
under an engagement to go to-morrow to Tay- 
mouth, and, if the weather will allow it, to the 
Blair of Athol : this will take up four or five days, 
and at my return the approach of winter will scarce 
permit me to think of any farther expeditions 
northwards. My stay here will, however, be a 
fortnight or three weeks longer ; and if in that 
time any business or invitation should call you 
this way, Lord Strathmore gives me commission to 
say, he shall be extremely glad to see you at 
Glames; and doubt not it will be a particular 
satisfaction to me to receive and thank you in 
person for the favourable sentiments you have en- 
tertained of me, and the civilities with which you 
have honoured me. 

* Professor of Moral Philosophy and Logic in 
the Marischal College, Aberdeen, 



MR. GRAY. 397 



LETTER L. 

MR. GRAY TO DR. WHARTON. 

Glames-castle, Sept. 34, 1760. 
I DEFERRED writing to you till I had seen a little 
more of this country than you yourself had seen ; 
and now being just returned from an excursion , 
which I and Major Lyon have been making into 
the Highlands, I sit down to give you an account 
of it. But first I must return to my journey hither, 
on which I shall be very short ; partly because you 
know the way as far as Edinburgh, and partly that 
there was not a great deal worth remarking. The 
first night we passed at Tweedmouth (77 miles) ; 
the next at Edinburgh (53 miles) ; where Lord Strath- 
more left the Major and me, to go to Lenox-Love, 
(Lord Blantyre's) where his aunt lives: so that 
afternoon and all next day I had leisure to visit the 
Castle, Holyrood-House, Heriot's Hospital, Arthur's 
Seat, &c. and am not sorry to have seen that most 
picturesque (at a distance), and nastiest (when near), 
of all capital cities. I supped with Dr. Robertson 
and other literati, and the next morning Lord Strath- 
more came for us. We crossed at the Queen's Ferry 
in a four-oared yawl without a sail, and were tossed 
about rather more than I should wish to hazard 
again ; lay at Perth, a large Scotch town with much 
wood about it, on the banks of the Tay, a very 
noble river. Next morning ferried over it, and 
came by dinner-time to Glames ; being (from Edin- 
burgh) 67 miles, which makes in all (from Hetton) 
197 miles. The castle* stands in Strathmore (i. e. 

* This is said to be the very castle in which 
Duncan was murdered by Macbeth. 



398 MEMOIRS OF 

the Great Valley) which winds about from Stone- 
haven on the east coast of Kincardineshire, obliquely, 
as far as Stirling, near ICO miles in length, and from 
seven to ten miles in breadth, cultivated every where 
to the foot of the hills, on either hand, with oats 
or bere, a species of barley, except where the soil 
is mere peat-earth, (black as a coal) or barren sand 
covered only with broom and heath, or a short grass 
fit for sheep. Here and there appear, just above 
ground, the huts of the inhabitants, which they 
call towns, built of, and covered with, turf; and 
among them, at great distances, the gentlemen's 
houses, with inclosures and a few trees round 
them. 

Amidst these the Castle of Glames distinguishes 
itself, the middle part of it rising proudly out of 
what seems a great and thick wood of tall trees, with 
a cluster of hanging towers on the top. You descend 
to it gradually from the south, through a double 
and triple avenue of Scotch firs 6*0 or 70 feet high, 
under three gateways. This approach is a full mile 
long ; and when you have passed the second gate, 
the firs change to limes, and another oblique avenue 
goes off on either hand towards the offices. These, 
as well as all the inclosures that surround the house, 
are bordered with three or four ranks of sycamores, 
ashes, and white poplars of the noblest height, and 
from 70 to 100 years old. Other alleys there are, 
that go off at right angles with the long one ; small 
groves, and walled gardens, of Earl Patrick's plant- 
ing, full of broad-leaved elms, oaks, birch, black 
cherry-trees, laburnums, &c. all of great stature and 
size, which have not till this week begun to show 
the least sense of morning frosts. The third gate 
delivers you into a court with a broad pavement, 
and grass-plats adorned with statues of the four 
Stuart Kings, bordered with old silver firs and yew- 
trees alternately, and opening with an iron palisade 
on either side to two square old-fashioned parterres 
surrounded by stone fruit-walls. The house, from 



MR. GRAY. 399 

the height of it, the greatness of its mass, the many- 
towers atop, and the spread of its wings, has really 
a very singular and striking appearance, like nothing 
I ever saw. You will comprehend something of its 
shape from the plan of the second floor, which I 
inclose. The wings are about 50 feet high ; the body 
(which is the old castle, with walls 10 feet thick) is 
near 100. From the leads I see to the south of me 
(just at the end of the avenue) the little town of 
Glames, the houses built of stone, and slated, with 
a neat kirk and small square tower (a rarity in this 
region). Just beyond it rises a beautiful round hill, 
and another ridge of a longer form adjacent to it, 
both covered with woods of tall fir. Beyond them, 
peep over the black hills of Sid-law, over which 
winds the road to Dundee. To the north, within 
about seven miles of me, begin to rise the Grampians, 
hill above hill, on whose tops three weeks ago I 
could plainly see some traces of the snow that fell 
in May last. To the east, winds a way to the Strath, 
such as I have before described it, among the hills, 
which sink lower and lower as they approach the 
sea. To the west, the same valley (not plain, but 
broken, unequal ground) runs on for above 20 miles 
in view : there I see the crags above Dunkeld ; there 
Beni-Gloe and Beni-More rise above the clouds ; 
and there is that She-khallian, that spires into a cone 
above them all, and lies at least 45 miles (in a direct 
line) from this place. 

Lord Strathmore, who is the greatest farmer in 
this neighbourhood, is from break of day to dark 
night among his husbandmen and labourers : he 
has near 2000 acres of land in his own hands, and 
is at present employed in building a low wall of four 
miles long, and in widening the bed of the little 
river Deane, which runs to south and south-east of 
the house, from about twenty to fifty feet wide, both 
to prevent inundations, and to drain the lake of 
Forfar. This work will be two years more in com- 
pleting, and must be three miles in length. All 



400 MEMOIRS OF 

the Highlanders that can be got are employed in it ; 
many of them know no English, and I hear them 
singing Erse songs all day long. The price of labour 
is eight-pence a day; but to such as will join to- 
gether, and engage to perform a certain portion in 
a limited time, two shillings. 

I must say that all his labours seem to prosper ; 
and my lord has casually found in digging such 
quantities of shell-marl, as not only fertilize his own 
grounds, but are disposed of at a good price to all 
his neighbours. In his nurseries are thousands of 
oaks, beech, larches, horse-chestnuts, spruce-firs, &c. 
thick as they can stand, and whose only fault is, 
that they are grown tall and vigorous before he has 
determined where to plant them out; the most ad- 
vantageous spot we have for beauty lies west of the 
house, where (when the stone walls of the meadows 
are taken away) the grounds, naturally unequal, 
will have a very park-like appearance : they are 
already full of trees, which need only thinning here 
and there to break the regularity of their trout- 
stream which joins the river Deane hard by. Pur- 
suing the course of this brook upwards, you come to 
a narrow sequestered valley sheltered from all winds, 
through which it runs murmuring among great 
stones ; on one hand the ground gently rises into a 
hill, on the other are the rocky banks of the rivulet 
almost perpendicular,yet covered with sycamore,ash, 
and fir, that (though it seems to have no place or soil 
to grow in) yet has risen to a good height, and forms 
a thick shade : you may continue along this gill, 
and passing by one end of the village and its church 
for half a mile, it leads to an opening between the 
two hills covered with fir-woods, that I mentioned 
above, through which the stream makes its way, 
and forms a cascade of ten or twelve feet over broken 
rocks. A very little art is necessary to make all 
this a beautiful scene. The weather, till the last 
week, lias been in general very fine and warm ; v. e 
have had no fires till now, and often have sat with 



MR. GRAY. 401 

the windows open an hour after sun -set : now and then 
a shower has come, and sometimes sudden gusts of 
wind descend from the mountains, that finish as sud- 
denly as they arose ; but to-day it blows a hurricane. 
Upon the whole, I have been exceeding lucky in 
my weather, and particularly in my Highland ex- 
pedition of five days. 

We set out then the 11th of September, and 
continuing along the Strath to the west, passed 
through Megill, (where is the tomb of Queen Wan- 
ders, that was riven to dethe by staned horses for 
nae gude that she did ; so the women there told 
me, I assure you) through Cowper of Angus : over 
the river Ha ; then over a wide and dismal heath, 
fit for an assembly of witches, till we came to a string 
of four small lakes in a valley, whose deep blue 
waters and green margin, with a gentleman's house 
or two seated on them in little groves, contrasted 
with the black desert in which they were inchased. 
The ground now grew unequal ; the hills, more 
rocky, seemed to close in upon us, till the road 
came to the brow of a steep descent, and (the sun 
then setting) between two woods of oak we saw far 
below us the river Tay come sweeping along at the 
bottom of a precipice, at least 150 feet deep, clear 
as glass, full to the brim, and very rapid in its 
course; it seemed to issue out of woods thick and 
tall, that rose on either hand, and were over-hung 
by broken rocky crags of vast height ; above them, 
to the west, the tops of higher mountains appeared, 
on which the evening clouds reposed. Down by 
the side of the river, under the thickest shades, is 
seated the town of Dunkeld ; in the midst of it 
stands a ruined cathedral, the towers and shell of 
the building still entire : a little beyond it, a large 
house of the Duke of Athol, with its offices and 
gardens, extends a mile beyond the town ; and as his 
grounds were interrupted by the streets and roads, 
he has flung arches of communication across them, 
that add to the scenery of the place, which of itself 



402 MEMOIRS OF 

is built of good white stone, and handsomely slated ; 
so that no one would take it for a Scotch town till 
they come into it. Here we passed the night ; if I 
told you how, you would bless yourself. 

Next day we set forward to Taymouth; 27 miles 
farther west ; the road winding through beautiful 
woods, with the Tay almost always in full view to 
the right, being here from 3 to 4.0 feet over. The 
Strath-Tay, from a mile to three miles or more 
wide, covered with corn, and spotted with groups 
of people, then in the midst of their harvest ; on 
either hand a vast chain of rocky mountains $hat 
changed their face and opened something new every 
hundred yards, as the way turned, or the clouds 
passed: in short, altogether it was one of the most 
pleasing days I have passed these many years, and 
at every step I wished for you. At the close of day 
we came to Ballocfi *, so the place was called ; but 
now Tay mouth, improperly enough ; for here it is 
that the river issues out of Loch-Tay, a glorious 
lake J 5 miles long and one mile and a half broad, 
surrounded with prodigious mountains ; there on its 
north-eastern brink, impending over it, is the vast 
hill of Lawers ; to the east is that enormous creature, 
She-khallian (i. e. the maiden's pap) spiring above 
the clouds : directly west, beyond the end of the 
lake, Bent-More, the great mountain rises to a 
most awful height, and looks down on the tomb of 
Fingal. Lord Breadalbane's policy (so they call 
here all such ground as is laid out for pleasure) 
takes in about COOO acres, of which his house, 
offices, and a deer-park, about three miles round, 
occupy the plain or bottom, which is little above a 
mile in breadth ; through it winds the Tay, which, by 
means of a bridge, I found here to be 156 feet over : 
his plantations and woods rise with the ground, on 



* Mr. Pennant, in his tour in Scotland, explains 
this word '• the Mouth of the Loch." 



MR. GRAY. 403 

either side the vale, to the very summit of the 
enormous crags that overhang it : along them, on 
the mountain's side, runs a terrace a mile and a half 
long, that overlooks the course of the river. From 
several seats and temples perched on particular 
rocky eminences, you command the lake for many 
miles in length, which turns like some huge river, 
and loses itself among the mountains that surround 
it ; at its eastern extremity, where the river issues 
out of it, on a peninsula my lord has built a neat 
little town and church with a high square tower; 
and just before it lies a small round island in the 
lake, covered with trees, amongst which are theruins 
of some little religious house. 

Trees, by the way, grow here to great size and 
beauty. I saw four old chestnuts in the road, as 
you enter the park, of vast bulk and height ; one 
beech tree I measured that was 16 feet 7 inches in 
the girth, and, I guess, near 80 feet in height. The 
gardener presented us with peaches, nectarines, and 
plums from the stone walls of the kitchen-garden 
(for there are no brick nor hot walls) ; the peaches 
were good, the rest well tasted, but scarce ripe ; we 
had also golden pippins from an espalier, not ripe, 
and a melon very well flavoured and fit to cut : of 
the house I have little to say ; it is a very good 
nobleman's house, handsomely furnished and well 
! kept, very comfortable to inhabit, but not worth 
, going far to see. Of the earl's taste I have not 
much more to say ; it is one of those noble situations 
that man cannot spoil : it is however certain, that 
he has built an inn and a town just where his prin- 
cipal walks should have been, and in the most 
I wonderful spot of ground that perhaps belongs to 
him. In this inn however we lay ; and next day 
returning down the river four miles, we passed it 
over a fine bridge, built at the expense of the govern- 
ment, and continued our way to Logie-Ilait, just 
I below which, in a most charming scene, the 
I Tummel, which is here the larger river of the two, 



404 MEMOIRS OF 

falls into the Tay. We ferried over the Tummel 
in order to get into Marshal Wade's road, which 
leads from Dunkeld to Inverness, and continued 
our way along it toward the north : the road is 
excellent, but dangerous enough in conscience ; 
the river often running directly under us at the 
bottom of a precipice 200 feet deep, sometimes 
masked indeed by wood that finds means to grow 
where I could not stand, but very often quite naked 
and without any defence ; in such places we walked 
for miles together, partly for fear, and partly to 
admire the beauty of the country, which the beauty 
of the weather set off to the greatest advantage : as 
evening came on, we approached the pass of Gilli- 
krankie, where, in the year 1745, the Hessians, 
with their prince at their head, stopped short, and 
refused to march a foot farther. 

Vestibulum ante ipsum, primisqiic infaucibus 
Orci stands the solitary mansion of Mr. Robertson 
of Fascley; close by it rises a hill covered with 
oak, with grotesque masses of rock staring from 
among their trunks, like the sullen countenances of 
Fingal and all his family, frowning on the little 
mortals of modern days : from between this hill 
and the adjacent mountains, pent in a narrow 
channel, comes roaring out the river Tummel, and 
falls headlong down involved in white foam which 
rises into a mist all round it : but my paper is de- 
ficient, and I must say nothing of the pass itself, 
the black river Garry, the Blair of Athol, Mount 
Beni-Gloe, my return by another road to Dunkeld, 
the Hermitage, the Stra-hra/n, and the Rumbling 
Brig : in short, since I saw the Alps, I have seen 
nothing sublime till now. In about a week I shall 
set forward, by the Stirling road, on my return all 
alone. Pray for me till I see you, for I dread 
Edinburgh and the itch, and expect to find very 
little in my way worth the perils I am to endure. 



MR. GRAY. 405 



LETTER LI. 

MR. GRAY TO MR. BEATTIE. 

Glames-castle, Oct. 2, 1?65. 
I MUST beg you would present my most grateful 
acknowledgments to your society for the public 
mark of their esteem, which you say they are dis- 
posed to confer on me*. I embrace, with so deep 
and just a sense of their goodness, the substance of 
that honour they do me, that 1 hope it may plead 
my pardon with them if I do not accept the form. 
I have been, Sir, for several years a member of the 
University of Cambridge, and formerly (when I had 
some thoughts of the profession) took a Bachelor 
of Laws' degree there ; since that time, though long 
qualified by my standing, I have always neglected 
to finish my course, and claim my Doctor's degree : 
judge, therefore, whether it will not look like a 
slight, and some sort of contempt, if I receive the 
same degree from a sister University. I certainly 
would avoid giving any offence to a set of men, 
among whom I have passed so many easy, and I 
may say, happy hours of my life ; • yet shall ever 
retain in my memory the obligations you have laid 
me under, and be proud of my connexion with the 
University of Aberdeen. 

It is a pleasure to me to find that you are not 
offended with the liberties I took when you were 



* The Marischal College of Aberdeen had desired 
to know whether it would be agreeable to Mr. Gray 
to receive from them the degree of Doctor of Laws. 
Mr. Beattie wrote to him on the subject, and this 
is the answer. 



406 MEMOIRS OF 

at Glames ; you took me too literally, if you thought 
I meant in the least to discourage you in your pur- 
suit of poetry: all I intended to say was, that if 
either vanity (that is, a general and undistinguishing 
desire of applause), or interest, or ambition has any 
place in the breast of a poet, he stands a great 
chance in these our days of being severely dis- 
appointed ; and yet, after all these passions are 
suppressed, there may remain in the mind of one, 
* ingenti perculsus amore,' (and such I take you to 
be) incitements of a better sort, strong enough to 
make him write verse all his life, both for his own 
Treasure and that of all posterity. 

I am sorry for the trouble you have had to gratify 
my curiosity and love of superstition ■; yet I heartily 
thank you. On Monday, Sir, I set forward on my 
way to England ; where if I can be of any little use 
to you, or should ever have the good fortune to see 
you, it will be a particular satisfaction to me. Lord 
Strathmore and the family here desire me to make 
their compliments to you. 

P. S. Remember Dryden, and be blind to all his 
faults t. 



* Mr. Gray, when in Scotland, had been very 
inquisitive after the popular superstitions of the 
country ; his correspondent sent him two books on 
this subject, foolish ones indeed, as might be ex- 
pected, but the best that could be had ; a History 
of Second-sight, and a History of Witches. 

t Mr. Beattie, it seems, in their late interview, had 
expressed himself with less admiration of Dryden than 
Mr. Gray thought his due. He told him in reply, 
' that if there was any excellence in his own num- 
bers, he had learned it wholly from that great poet; 
and pressed him with great earnestness to study 
him, as his choice of words and versification were 
singularly happy and harmonious.' 



MR. GRAY. 40? 



LETTER LII. 

MR. GRAY TO DR. WHARTON. 

Pembroke- Hall, March 5, 1766. 
I AM amazed at myself when I think I have never 
wrote to you ; to be sure it is the sin of witchcraft, 
or something worse. Had I been married, like 
Mason, some excuse might be made for it; who 
(for the first time since that great event) has just 
thought fit to tell me that he never passed so happy 
a winter as the last, and this in spite of his anxieties, 
which he says might even make a part of his hap- 
piness; for his wife is by no means in health, she 
has a constant cough : yet he is assured her lungs 
are not affected, and that it is nothing of the con- 
sumptive kind. As to me, I have been _h either 
happy nor miserable ; but in a gentle stupefaction 
of mind, and very tolerable health of body hitherto. 
If they last, I shall not much complain. The ac- 
counts one has lately had from all parts make me 
suppose you buried in the snow like the old Queen 
of Denmark. As soon as you are dug out, I shall 
rejoice to hear your voice from the battlements of 
Old Park. 

Every thing is politics. There are no literary 
productions worth your notice, at least of our 
country. The French have finished their great 
Encyclopedia in 17 volumes; but there are many 
flimsy articles very hastily treated, and great in- 
correctness of the press. There are now 13 volumes 
of Buffon's Natural History; and he is not come 
to the monkeys yet, who are a numerous people. 
The Life of Petrarch has entertained me ; it is not 
well written, but very curious, and laid together 



408 MEMOIRS OF 

from his own letters, and the original writings of 
the fourteenth century ; so that he takes in much 
of the history of those obscure times, and the cha- 
racters of many remarkable persons. There are 
two volumes quarto ; and another, unpublished yet, 
will complete it. 

Mr. Walpole writes me now and then a long and 
lively letter from Paris ; to which place he went 
last year with the gout upon him, sometimes in his 
limbs, often in his stomach and head. He has got 
somehow well, (not by means of the climate, one 
would think) goes to all public places, sees all the 
best company, and is very much in fashion. He 
says he sunk like Queen Eleanor at Charing-Cross, 
and has risen again at Paris. He returns in April. 
I saw the lady you inquire after, when I was last 
in London, and a prodigious fine one she is. She 
had a strong suspicion of rouge on her cheeks, a 
cage of foreign birds and a piping bullfinch at her 
elbow ; two little dogs on a cushion in her lap, and 
a cockatoo on her shoulder: they were all exceed- 
ing glad to see me, and I them. 



MR. GRAY. 409 



LETTER LIIL 

MR. GRAY TO DR. WHARTON. 

Pembroke-Hall, Aug. 26, 1766. 
WHATEVER my pen may do, I am sure my 
thoughts expatiate nowhere oftener, or with more 
pleasure, than to Old Park. I hope you have 
made my peace with the angry little lady. It is 
certain, whether her name were in my letter or 
not, she was as present to my memory as the rest 
of the whole family ; and I desire you would pre- 
sent her with two kisses in my name, and one 
a-piece to all the others; for I shall take the li- 
berty to kiss them all, (great and small) as you are 
to be my proxy *. 

In spite of the rain, which I think continued, 
with very short intervals, till the beginning of this 
month, and quite effaced the summer from the 
year, I made a shift to pass May and June not dis- 
agreeably in Kent. I was surprised at the beauty 
of the road to Canterbury, which (I know not why) 
had not struck me before. The whole country is a 
rich and well-cultivated garden; orchards, cherry- 
grounds, hop-gardens, intermixed with corn and 
frequent villages ; gentle risings covered with wood, 
and every where the Thames and Medway breaking 
in urjon the landscape with all their navigation. It 
was indeed owing to the bad weather that the 
whole scene was dressed in that tender emerald 
green, which one usually sees only for a fortnight 

* Some readers will think this paragraph very 
I trifling ; yet many, I hope, will take it, as I give 
it, for a pleasing example of the amiableness of his 
I domestic character. 

T 



410 MEMOIRS OF 

in the opening of the spring ; and this continued 
till I left the country. My residence was eight 
miles east of Canterbury, in a little quiet valley on 
the skirts of Bar ham- Down*. In these parts the 
whole soil is chalk, and whenever it holds up, in 
half an hour it is dry enough to walk out. I took 
the opportunity of three or four days fine weather 
to go into the Isle of Thanet ; saw Margate, (which 
is Bartholomew fair by the sea-side) Ramsgate, and 
other places there ; and so came by Sandwich, 
Deal, Dover, Folkstone, and Hithe, back again. 
The coast is not like Hartlepool; there are no 
rocks, but only chalky cliffs of no great height till 
you come to Dover; there indeed they are noble 
and picturesque, and the opposite coasts of France 
begin to bound your view, which was left before to 
range unlimited by any thing but the horizon ; yet 
it is by no means a shipless sea, but every where 
peopled with white sails, and vessels of all sizes in 
motion : and take notice, (except in the Isle, 
which is all corn-fields, and has very little inclo- 
sure) there are in all places hedge-rows, and tall 
trees even within a few yards of the beach. Parti- 
cularly, Hithe stands on an eminence covered with 
wood. I shall confess we had fires at night (ay, 
and at day too) several times in June ; but do not 
go and take advantage in the north at this, for it 
was the most untoward year that ever I remember. 
Have you read the New Bath Guide? It is the 
only thing in fashion, and is a new and original 
kind of humour. Miss Prue's conversion, I doubt, 
you will paste down, as a certain Yorkshire Ba- 
ronet did before he carried it to his daughters: yet 
I remember you all read Crazy Tales without 
pasting Buffon's first collection of Monkeys is 



* At Denton, where his friend the Rev. William 
Robinson, brother to Matthew Robinson, Esq. late 
member for Canterbury, then resided. 



MR. GRAY. 411 

come out, (it makes the 14th volume) something, 
but not much to my edification ; for he is pretty 
well acquainted with their persons, but not with 
their manners. 

My compliments to Mrs. Wharton and all your 
family ; I will not name them, lest I should affront 
any body. 



LETTER L1V. 

MR. GRAY TO MR. MASON. 

March 28, 1?67. 
I BREAK in upon you at a moment, when we 
least of all are permitted to disturb our friends, 
only to say, that you are daily and hourly present 
to my thoughts. If the worst * be not yet past, 
you will neglect and pardon me: but if the last 
struggle be over; if the poor object of your long 
anxieties be no longer sensible to your kindness, or 
to her own sufferings, allow me (at least in idea, 
for what could I do, were I present, more than 
this ?) to sit by you in silence, and pity from my 
heart not her, who is at rest, but you, who lose 
her. May He, who made us, the master of our 
pleasures and of our pains, preserve and support 
you ! Adieu. 

1 have long understood how little you had to 
hope. 

* As this little billet (which I received at the 
Hot-Wells at Bristol) then breathed, and still seems 
to breathe, 4;he very voice of friendship in its ten- 
derest and most pathetic note, I cannot refrain 
from publishing it in this place. I opened it al- 
most at the precise moment when it would neces- 
sarily be the most affecting. 



412 MEMOIRS OF 



LETTER LV. 

MR. GRAY TO MR. BEATTIE. 

Old Park, near Darlington, Durham, 
August 12, 1767. 
I RECEIVED from Mr. Williamson that very 
obliging mark you were pleased to give me of your 
remembrance : had I not entertained some slight 
hopes of revisiting Scotland this summer, and con- 
sequently of seeing you at Aberdeen, I had sooner 
acknowledged, by letter, the favour you have done 
me. Those hopes are now at an end ; but I do 
not therefore despair of seeing again a country that 
has given me so much pleasure; nor of telling 
you, in person, how much I esteem you and (as 
you choose to call them) your amusements : the 
specimen of them, which you were so good as to 
send me, I think excellent; the sentiments are 
such as a melancholy imagination naturally sug- 
gests in solitude and silence, and that (though light 
and business may suspend or banish them at times) 
return with but so much the greater force upon a 
feeling heart : the diction is elegant and uncon- 
strained; not loaded with epithets and figures, nor 
flagging into prose; the versification is easy and 
harmonious. My only objection is * * * * t 



f A paragraph is here omitted, as it contained 
merely a few particular criticisms ; a liberty of the 
game kind I have before taken in some of the pre- 
ceding letters. The poem in question contained 
many touching reflections on mortality: it is to 
be hoped Dr. Beattie will one day give it to the 
public. 



MR. GRAY. 413 

You see;, sir, I take the liberty you indulged me 
in, when I first saw you ; and therefore I make no 
excuses for it, but desire you would take your re- 
venge on me in kind. 

I have read over (but too hastily) Mr. Ferguson's 
book. There are uncommon strains of eloquence 
in it ; and I was surprised to find not one single 
idiom of his country (I think) in the whole work. 
He has not the fault you mention*: his appli- 
cation to the heart is frequent, and often suc- 
cessful. His love of Montesquieu and Tacitus has 
led him into a manner of writing too short-winded 
and sententious ; which those great men, had they 
lived in better times and under a better govern- 
ment, would have avoided. 

I know no pretence that I have to the honour 
Lord Gray is pleased to do mef : but if his lordship 
chooses to own me, it certainly is not my business 
to deny it. I say not this merely on account of 
his quality, but because he is a very worthy and 
accomplished person. I am truly sorry for the 



* To explain this, I must take the liberty to 
transcribe a paragraph from Mr. Beattie's letter 
dated March 30, to which the above is an answer : 
* A professor at Edinburgh has published an Essay 
on the History of Civil Society, but I have not 
seen it. It is a fault common to almost all our 
Scotch authors, that they are too metaphysical : I 
wish they would learn to speak more to the heart, 
and less to the understanding; but alas ! this is a 
talent which heaven only can bestow : whereas the 
philosophic spirit (as we call it) is merely artificial 
and level to the capacity of every man, who has 
much patience, a little learning, and no taste.' 
He has since dilated on this just sentiment in his 
admirable Essay on the Immutability of Truth. 

f Lord Gray had said that our author was re- 
lated to his family. 



414 MEMOIRS OF 

great loss he has had since I left Scotland. If you 
should chance to see him, I will beg you to present 
ray respectful humble service to his lordship. 

I gave Mr. Williamson all the information I was 
able in the short time he staid with me. He seemed 
to answer well the character you gave me of him; 
but what I chiefly envied in him, was his ability 
of walking all the way from Aberdeen to Cam- 
bridge, and back again ; which if I possessed, you 
would soon see your obliged, &c. 



LETTER LVI. 

MR. GRAY TO MR. BEATTIE. 

Pembroke-Hall, Dec. 24, 1767. 
SINCE I had the pleasure of receiving your last 
letter, which did not reach me till I had left the 
North, and was come to London, I have been con- 
fined to my room with a fit of the gout : now I am 
recovered and in quiet at Cambridge, I take up 
my pen to thank you for your very friendly offers, 
which have so much the air of frankness and real 
good meaning, that were my body as tractable and 
easy of conveyance as my mind, you would see me 
to-morrow in the chamber you have so hospitably 
laid out for me at Aberdeen. But, alas ! I am a 
summer-bird, and can only sit drooping till the sun 
returns : even then too my wings may chance to be 
clipped, and little in plight for so distant an ex- 
cursion. 

The proposal you make me, about printing at 
Glasgow what little I have ever written, does me 
honour. I leave my reputation in that part of the 
kingdom to your care ; and only desire you would 



. 



MR. GRAY. 415 

not let your partiality to me and mine mislead you. 
If you persist in your design, Mr. Foulis certainly 
ought to be acquainted with what 1 am now going to 
tell you. When I was in London the last spring, 
Dodsley, the bookseller, asked my leave to re- 
print, in a smaller form, all I ever published ; to 
which I consented: and added, that I would send 
him a few explanatory notes ; and if he would omit 
entirely the Long Story, (which was never meant 
for the public, and only suffered to appear in that 
pompous edition because of Mr. Bentley's designs, 
which were not intelligible without it) I promised 
to send him something else to print instead of it, 
lest the bulk of so small a volume should be re- 
duced to nothing at all. Now it is very certain 
that I had rather see them printed at Glasgow 
(especially as you will condescend to revise the 
press) than at London ; but I know not how to re- 
tract my promise to Dodsley. By the way, you 
perhaps may imagine that I have some kind of in- 
terest in this publication ; but the truth is, I have 
none whatever. The expense is his, and so is the 
profit, if there be any. I therefore told him the 
other day, in general terms, that I heard there 
would be an edition put out in Scotland by a 
friend of mine, whom T could not refuse ; and 
that, if so, I would send thither a copy of the same 
notes and additions that I had promised to send to 
him. This did not seem at all to cool his courage ; 
Mr. Foulis must therefore judge for himself, 
whether he thinks it worth while to print what is 
going to be printed also at London. If he doe's, I 
will send him (in a packet to you) the same things 
I shall send to Dodsley. They are imitations of 
two pieces of old Norwegian poetry, in which there 
was a wild spirit that struck me : but for my para- 
phrases I cannot say much; you will judge. The 
rest are nothing but a few parallel passages, and 
small notes just to explain what people said at the 
time was wrapped in total darkness. You will 



416 MEMOIRS OF 

please to tell me, as soon as you can conveniently, 
what Mr. Foulis says on this head; that (if he 
drops the design) I may save myself and you the 
trouble of this packet. I ask your pardon for 
talking so long about it ; a little more, and my 
letter would be as big as all my works. 

I have read, with much pleasure, an ode of 
yours (in which you have done me the honour to 
adopt a measure that I have used) on Lord Hay's 
birth-day. Though I do not love panegyric, I 
cannot but applaud this, for there is nothing mean 
in it. The diction is easy and noble, the texture 
of the thoughts lyric, and the versification harmo- 
nious. The few expressions I object to are * * * * t. 
These, indeed, are minutiae ; but they weigh for 
something, as half a grain makes a difference in 
the value of a diamond. 



LETTER LVII. 

MR. GRAY TO MR. BEATTIE. 

Pembroke-Hall, Feb. 1, ]?68. 
I AM almost sorry to have raised any degree of impa- 
tience in you, because I can by no means satisfy it. 
The sole reason I have to publish these few addi- 
tions now, is to make up (in both) for the omission 
of that Long Story ; and as to the notes, I do it 
out of spite, because the public did not understand 
the two odes (which I have called Pindaric) ; though 
the first was not very dark, and the second alluded 



t Another paragraph of particular criticism is 
here omitted. 






MR. GRAY. 417 

to a few common facts to be found in any sixpenny 
history of England, by way of question and an- 
swer, for the use of children. The parallel pas- 
sages~I insert out of justice to those writers from 
whom I happened to take the hint of any line, as 
far as I can recollect. 

I rejoice to be in the hands of Mr. Foulis, who 
has the laudable ambition of surpassing his prede- 
cessors, the Etiennes and the Elzevirs, as well in 
literature, as in the proper art of his profession : 
he surprises me in mentioning a lady, after whom 
I have been inquiring these fourteen years in vain. 
When the two odes were first published, I sent them 
to her ; but as I was forced to direct them very 
much at random, probably they never came to her 
hands. When the present edition comes out, I beg 
of Mr. Foulis to offer her a copy, in my name, 
with my respects and grateful remembrances ; he 
will send another to yOu, sir, and a third to Lord 
Gray, if he will do me the honour of accepting it. 
These are all the presents I pretend to make (for I 
would have it considered only as a new edition of 
an old book) ; after this if he pleases to send me 
one or two, I shall think myself obliged to him. 
I cannot advise him to print a great number ; 
especially as Dodsley has it in his power to print 
as many as he pleases, though I desire him not to 
do so. 

You are very good to me in taking this trouble 
upon you : all I can say is, that I shall be happy to 
return it in kind, whenever you svill give me the 
opportunity. 



T 2 



418 MEMOIRS OF 

LETTER LVIII*. 

MR. GRAY TO THE DUKE OF GRAFTON. 

my lord, Cambridge, July, 176a 

YOUR grace has dealt nobly with me ; and the 
same delicacy of mind that induced you to confer 
this favour on me, unsolicited and unexpected, may 
perhaps make you averse to receive my sincerest 
thanks and grateful acknowledgments. Yet your 
grace must excuse me, they will have their way : 
they are indeed but words ; yet I know and feel 
they come from my heart, and therefore are not 
wholly unworthy of your grace's acceptance. I even 
flatter myself (such is my pride) that you have 
some little satisfaction in your own work. If I 
did not deceive myself in this, it would complete 
the happiness of, 

My lord, 

Your grace's 
Most obliged and devoted servant. 



* The two following letters explain the occasion 
of this address, in a way so honourable to his grace, 
and are withal so authentic a testimony of Mr. 
Gray's gratitude, that they leave me nothing to add 
on the subject. 



MR. GRAY. 419 

LETTER LIX. 

MR. GRAY TO MR. NICHOLLS *. 

Jermyn-street, Aug. 3, 176*8. 
THAT Mr. Brocketthas broken his neck, by a fall 
from his horse, you will have seen in the news- 
papers; and also that I, your humble servant, 
have kissed the king's hand for his succession: 
they are both true, but the manner how you know 
not ; only I can assure you that I had no hand at 
all in his fall, and almost as little in the second 
event. He died on the Sunday; on Wednesday 
following his grace the Duke of Grafton wrote me 
a very polite letter to say, that his majesty had 
commanded him to offer me the vacant professor- 
ship, not only as a reward of, &c. but as a credit 
to, &c. with much more too high for me to tran- 
scribe: so on Thursday the king signed the war- 
rant, and next day, at his levee, I kissed his hand ; 
he made me several gracious speeches, which I shall 
not repeat, because every body, that goes to court, 
does so : besides, the day was so hot, and the cere- 
mony so embarrassing to me, that I hardly knew 
What he said. 

Adieu. I am to perish here with heat this fort- 
night yet, and then to Cambridge ; to be sure my 
dignity is a little the worse for wear, but mended 
and washed, it will do for me. 



* Rector of Lounde and Bradwell, in Suffolk. 
His acquaintance with Mr. Gray commenced a few 
years before the date of this, when he was a student 
of Trinity-Hall, Cambridge. 



420 MEMOIRS OF 



LETTER LX. 



MR. GRAY TO MR. BEATTIE. 

Pembroke-Hall, Oct. 31, 1768. 
IT is some time since I received from Mr. Foulis 
two copies of my poems, one by the hands of 
Mr. T. Pitt, the other by Mr. Merrill, a bookseller 
of this town : it is indeed a most beautiful edition, 
and must certainly do credit both to him and to me ; 
but I fear it will be of no other advantage to him, 
as Dodsley has contrived to glut the town already 
with two editions beforehand, one of 1500, and the 
other of 750, both indeed far inferior to that of 
Glasgow, but sold at half the price. I must repeat 
my thanks, sir, for the trouble you have been pleased 
to give yourself on my account ; and through you I 
must desire leave to convey my acknowledgments 
to Mr. Foulis, for the pains and expense he has 
been at in this publication. 

We live at so great a distance, that, perhaps, you 
may not yet have learned, what, I flatter myself, 
you will not be displeased to hear : the middle of 
last summer his majesty was pleased to appoint me 
Regius Professor of Modern History in this Uni- 
versity ; it is the best thing the crown has to bestow 
(on a layman) here; the salary is 4001. per. ann. 
but what enhances the value of it to me is, that it 
was bestowed without being asked. The person, 
who held it before me, died on the Sunday ; and on 
Wednesday following the Duke of Grafton wrote 
me a letter to say, that the king offered me this 
office, with many additional expressions of kind- 
ness on his grace's part, to whom I am but little 
known, and whom I have not seen either before or 
since he did me this favour. Instances of a benefit 



MR. GRAY. 421 

so nobly conferred, I believe, are rare ; and there- 
fore I tell you of it as a thing that does honour, 
not only to me, but to the minister. 

As I lived here before from choice, I shall now 
continue to do so from obligation : if business or 
curiosity should call you southwards, you will find 
few friends that will see you with more cordial sa- 
tisfaction than, dear sir, &c. 



END OF THE FOURTH SECTION. 



SECTION V. 



THE reader will have gathered, from the preceding 
series of letters, that the greatest part of Mr. Gray's 
life was spent in that kind of learned leisure, which 
has only self-improvement and self -gratification for 
its object : he will probably be surprised that, with 
so very strait an income, he should never have 
read with a view of making his researches lucrative 
to himself, or useful to the public. The truth 
was, Mr. Gray had ever expunged the word lucra- 
tive from his own vocabulary. He may be said to 
have been one of those very few personages in the 
annals of literature, especially in the poetical class, 
who are devoid of self-interest, and at the same 
time attentive to economy ; and also, among man- 
kind in general, one of those very few economists 
who possess that talent, untinctured with the 
slightest stain of avarice. Were it my purpose in 
this place to expatiate on his moral excellencies, I 
should here add, that when his circumstances were 
at the lowest, he gave away such sums in private 
charity as would have done credit to an ampler 
purse: but it is rather my less-pleasing province at 
present to acknowledge one of his foibles; and that 
was a certain degree of pride, which led him, of all 
other things, to despise the idea of being thought 
an author professed. I have been told indeed, 
that early in life he had an intention of publishing 
an edition of Strabo ; and I find amongst his 
papers a great number of geographical disqui- 
sitions, particularly with respect to that part of 
Asia which comprehends Persia and India; con- 



MEMOIRS OF MR. GRAY. 423 

eerning the ancient and modern names and dp- 
visions of which extensive countries, his notes are 
very copious. The indefatigable pains which he 
also took with the writings of Plato, and the quan- 
tity of critical, as well as explanatory observations, 
which he has left upon almost every part of his 
works, plainly indicate, that no man in Europe 
was better prepared to republish and illustrate that 
philosopher than Mr. Gray. Another work, on 
which he bestowed uncommon labour, was the 
* Anthologia.' Amongst the books, which his 
friendship bequeathed to me, is Henry Stevens's 
edition of that collection of Greek Epigrams, in- 
terleaved; in which he has transcribed several ad- 
ditional ones that he selected in his extensive 
reading, has inserted a great number of critical 
notes and emendations, and subjoined a copious 
index, in which every epigram is arranged under 
the name of its respective author *. This manu- 



* It should seem that Mr. Gray's pains were, on 
this occasion, very ill employed ; for the late Lord 
Chesterfield, writing to his son, says, * I hope you 
are got out of the worst company in the world, the 
Greek Epigrams. Martial has wit, and is worth 
looking into sometimes; but I recommend the 
Greek Epigrams to your supreme contempt.' See 
Lord Chesterfield's Letters, Let. 73. However, if 
what Mr. Gray says be true, p. 348, supra, that * a 
dead lord ranks only with commoners,' there may 
come a time when Lord Chesterfield's dictum, in 
matters of taste, may not be held more infallible 
than that of his own and other dead lords, in points 
of religion and morality : nay, when his own plan 
of gentlemanly education may be thought less ca- 
pable of furnishing his country with useful mem- 
bers of society than the plain old-fashioned one 
which he wrote to explode. If this day does not 
quickly come, one may, without pretending to a 



424 MEMOIRS OF 

script, though written in that exact manner, as if 
intended for the press, I do not know that it was 
ever Mr. Gray's design to make public. The only 
work, which he meditated upon with this direct 
view from the beginning, was a History of English 
Poetry. He has mentioned this himself in an ad- 
vertisement prefixed to those three fine imitations 
of Norse and Welch poetry, which he gave the 
world in the last edition of his Poems. But the 
slight manner, in which he there speaks of that de- 
sign, may admit here of some additional explana- 
tion. Several years ago I was indebted to the 
friendship of the present learned Bishop of Glou- 
cester for *a curious manuscript paper of Mr. Pope, 
which contains the first sketch of a plan for a work 
of this kind, and which I have still in my posses- 
sion. Mr. Gray was greatly struck with the me- 
thod which Mr. Pope had traced out in this little 
sketch ; and on my proposal of engaging with him 
in compiling such a history, he examined the plan 
more accurately, enlarged it considerably, and 
formed an idea for an introduction to it. In this 
was to be assertained the origin of rhyme; and 
specimens not only of the Provencal poetry, (to 
which alone Mr. Pope seemed to have adverted) 
but of the Scaldic, British, and Saxon, were to 
have been given ; as, from all these different sources 
united, English poetry had its original : though it 
could hardly be called by that name till the time of 
Chaucer, with whose school (i. e. the poets who 
wrote in his manner) the history itself was in- 
tended to commence. The materials which I col- 
lected for this purpose are too inconsiderable to be 



gift of prophecy, pronounce that England will 
neither be, nor deserve to be, any thing better 
than a province of France. 

• A transcript of this paper is to be found printed 
in the Life of Mr. Pope, written by Mr. Ruff head. 



MR. GRAY. 425 

mentioned: but Mr. Gray, besides versifying those 
odes that he published, made many elaborate dis- 
quisitions into the origin of rhyme, and that variety 
of metre, to be found in the writings of our an- 
cient poets. He also transcribed many parts of the 
voluminous Lidgate, from manuscripts which he 
found in the University Library and those of pri- 
vate colleges; remarking, as he went along, the 
several beauties and defects of this immediate 
scholar of Chaucer. He however soon found that 
a work of this kind, pursued on so very extensive 
a plan, would become almost endless : and hearing 
at the same time that Mr. Thomas Warton, Fellow 
of Trinity-College, Oxford, (of whose abilities, 
from his observations on Spenser, we had each of 
us conceived the highest opinion) was engaged in a 
work of the same kind, we by mutual consent re- 
linquished our undertaking ; and soon after, on 
that gentleman's desiring a sight of the plan, Mr. 
Gray readily sent him a copy of it*. 

At a time when I am enumerating the more con- 
siderable of Mr. Gray's antiquarian pursuits, I 
must not omit to mention his great knowledge of 
Gothic architecture. He had seen, and accurately 
studied in his youth, while abroad, the Roman 
proportions on the spot, both in ancient ruins and 
in the works of Palladio. In his later years he ap- 
plied himself to consider those stupendous struc- 
tures of more modern date, that adorn our own 
country ; which, if they have not the same grace, 
have undoubtedly equal dignity. He endeavoured 
to trace this mode of building, from the time it 

* This gentleman has just now politely acknow- 
ledged the favour in his preface to his first volume 
on this subject. A work, which, as he proceeds 
in it through more enlightened periods, will un- 
doubtedly give the world as high an idea of his 
critical taste, as the present specimen does of his 
indefatigable researches into antiquity. 



426 MEMOIRS OF 

commenced, through its various changes, till it ar- j 
rived at its perfection in the reign of Henry the 
Eighth, and ended in that of Elizabeth. For this 
purpose he did not so much depend upon written 
accounts, as that internal evidence which the 
buildings themselves give of their respective anti- 
quity ; since they constantly furnish to the well- 
informed eye, arms, ornaments, and other indu- 
bitable marks, by which their several ages may be 
ascertained. On this account he applied himself to 
the study of heraldry as a preparatory science, and 
has left behind him a number of genealogical 
papers, more than sufficient to prove him a com- 
plete master of it. By these means he arrived at 
so very extraordinary a pitch of sagacity, as to be 
enabled to pronounce, at first sight, on the precise 
time when every particular part of any of our ca- 
thedrals was erected. He invented also several 
terms of art, the better to explain his meaning on 
this subject. I frequently pressed him to digest 
these in a regular order; and offered, under his di- 
rection, to adapt a set of drawings to them, which 
might describe every ornament peculiarly in use 
in every different sera. But though he did not 
disapprove this hint, he neglected it ; and has left 
no papers that would lead to its prosecution. I 
therefore mention it in this place, only to induce 
certain of his friends, to whom I know he commu- 
nicated more of his thoughts upon this subject 
than to me, to pursue the design, if they think it 
would be attended with utility to the public. 

There is an Eloge on M. l'Abbe Le Beuf, pub- 
lished in the « Histoire de l'Acad. des Inscriptions 
et Belles Lettres, vol. cyth,' by which it appears 
that gentleman had precisely the same idea with 
Mr. Gray on this subject; and, by pursuing it, had 
arrived at the same degree of skill. « Les Voyages 
etles Lectures de M. l'Abbe Le Beuf l'avoient tene- 
ment familiarise avec les monumens, qu'il aper- 
cevoit les differences les plus delicates de l'ancienne 



MR. GRAY. 497 

architecture : il dem61oit du premier coup-d'oeil, 
les caracteres de chaque siecle; a 1'inspection d'un 
batiment ii pouvoit dire, quelquefois a vingt 
annees pres, dans quel temps il avoit ete construit : 
les ceintres, les chapiteaux, les moulures portoient 
a ses yeux la date de leur batisse : beaucoup de 
grands edifices ont ete l'ouvrage de plusieurs siecles ; 
plus encore ont ete repares en des siecles differens ; 
il decomposoit un merae batiment avec une facilite 
singuliere, il fixoit l'age des diverses parties, et ses 
decisions etoient toujours fondees sur des preuves 
indubi tables ; on en trouve une foule d'exemples 
dans son Histoire du Diocese de Paris.' His pane- 
gyrist also informs us, that he was solicited by his 
friend, M. Joly de Fleury, to reduce into a body of 
science the discoveries which he had made ; that 
his ill health prevented him ; but that the work is 
now in the hands of a person very capable of per- 
fecting his idea. Yet I question whether a work 
of this kind, from a French writer, will be of any 
great importance, since I am informed by a very 
competent judge, that the resemblance between 
Gothic architecture in England and in France is sur- 
prisingly slight, except in the cathedral at Amiens, 
and a few other churches, supposed to be built by 
the English while in possession of French pro- 
vinces. The public has much more to hope from 
Mr. T. Warton's late promise to it, as he, of all 
other living writers, is best qualified to give com- 
plete satisfaction to the curious on this subject : in 
| the meanwhile, it may not be amiss to inform the 
M reader, that Mr. Bentham's Remarks on Saxon 
Churches, which make a part of an elaborate intro- 
duction to his History of Ely Cathedral, lately pub- 
lished, will convey to him many sentiments of 
Mr. Gray ; as, amongst other antiquaries, he con- 
tributed his assistance to that gentleman ; who, in 
his preface, has accordingly mentioned the obli- 
gation. 

But the favourite study of Mr. Gray, for the last 



428 MEMOIRS OF 

ten years of his life, was natural history, which he 
then rather resumed than began; as, by the in- 
structions of his uncle Antrobus, he was a consi- 
derable botanist at fifteen. He followed it closely, 
and often said that he thought it a singular felicity 
to have engaged in it; as, besides the constant 
amusement it gave him in his chamber, it led him 
more frequently out into the fields ; and, by 
making his life less sedentary, improved the ge- 
neral course of his health and spirits. 

Habituated, as he had long been, to apply only 
to first-rate authors, as to the fountain-head of that 
knowledge, which he was at the time solicitous to 
acquire, it is obvious that, when he resolved to 
make himself master of natural history, he would 
immediately become the disciple of the great Lin- 
naeus. His first business was to understand accu- 
rately his ' termini artis,' which he called justly the 
learning a new original language. He then went 
regularly through the vegetable, animal, and fos- 
sile kingdoms. The marginal notes which he has 
left, not only on Linnaeus, but the many other 
authors which he read on these subjects, are very 
numerous : but the most considerable are on Hud- 
son's Flora Anglica, and the tenth edition of the 
Systema Naturas ; which latter he interleaved, and 
filled almost entirely. While employed on Zoo- 
logy, he also read Aristole's treatise on that subject 
with great care, and explained many difficult pas- 
sages of that obscure ancient, from the lights he 
had acquired from modern naturalists. 

Having now given a general account of that va- 
riety of literary pursuits, which, in their turns, 
principally engaged his attention, and which were 
either not mentioned, or only glanced at in the 
preceding letters, let me be permitted to say a word 
ox two of his amusements. The chief, and almost 
the only one of these, (if we except the frequent 
experiments he made on flowers, in order to mark 
the mode and progress of their vegetation) was 



MR. GRAY. 429 

music, His taste in this art was equal to his skill 
in any more important science. It was founded on 
the best models, those great masters in Italy, wh» 
flourished about the same time with his favourite 
Pergolesi. Of his and of Leo's, Bononcini's, 
Vinci's, and Hasse's works, he made a valuable col- 
lection while abroad, chiefly of such of their vocal 
compositions as he had himself heard and admired; 
observing in his choice of these, the same judicious 
rule which he followed in making his collection of 
prints ; which was not so much to get together com- 
plete sets of the works of any master, as to select those 
(the best in their kind) which would recall to his 
memory the capital pictures, statues, and buildings 
which he had seen and studied. By this means, as 
he acquired in painting great facility and accuracy 
in the knowledge of hands, so in music he gained 
supreme skill in the more refined powers of expres- 
sion; especially when we consider that art as an 
adjunct to poetry: for vocal music, and that only, 
(excepting perhaps the lessons of the younger Scar- 
latti) was what he chiefly regarded. His instru- 
ment was the harpsichord ; on which, though he 
had little execution, yet, when he sung to it, he so 
modulated the small powers of his voice *, as to be 
able to convey to the intelligent hearer no common 
degree of satisfaction. This, however, he could 
seldom be prevailed upon to do, even by his most 
intimate acquaintance. 

To conclude this slight sketch of his literary cha- 
racter, I believe I may with great truth assert, that 
excepting pure mathematics, and the studies de- 

* He was much admired for his singing in his 
youth ; yet he was so shy in exercising this talent, 
that Mr. Walpole tells me he never could but once 
prevail on him to give a proof of it; and then it 
was with so much pain to himself, that it gave him 
no manner of pleasure. 



430 MEMOIRS OF 

pendent on that science, there was hardly any part 
of human learning in which he had not acquired a 
competent skill ; in most of them a consummate 
mastery. 

I proceed now, as I did in the former sections, 
to select, for the reader's perusal, the last series of 
his letters. They are few in number; yet contain 
all the incidents that occurred in that very short 
space of time, during which Providence was pleased 
further to continue him a blessing to his friends, 
and an ornament to his country. 



LETTER I. 



MR. GRAY TO MR. NICHOLLS. 

I WAS absent from college, and did not receive 
your melancholy letter till my return hither yes- 
terday ; so you must not attribute this delay to me, 
but to accident : to sympathize with you in such a 
loss * is an easy task for me, but to comfort you not 
so easy : can I wish to see you unaffected with the 
sad scene now before your eyes, or with the loss of 
a person that, through a great part of your life, 
has proved himself so kind a friend to you ? He 
who best knows our nature (for he made us what 
we are) by such afflictions recalls us from our wan- 
dering thoughts and idle merriment; from the in- 
solence of youth and prosperity, to serious re- 
flection, to our duty, and to himself; nor need we 
hasten to get rid of these impressions; time (by ap- 
pointment of the same power) will cure the smart, 
and in some hearts soon blot out all the traces of 

* The death of his uncle, Governor Floyer. 



MR. GRAY. 431 

sorrow : but such as preserve them longest (for it 
is partly left in our own power) do perhaps best 
acquiesce in the will of the chastiser. 

For the consequence of this sudden loss, I see, 
them well, and I think, in a like situation, could 
fortify my mind, so as to support them with cheer- 
fulness and good hopes, though not naturally in- 
clined to see things in their best aspect. When 
you have time to turn yourself round, you must 
think seriously of your profession ; you know I 
would have wished to see you wear the livery of it 
long ago : but I will not dwell on this subject at 
present To be obliged to those we love and esteem 
is a pleasure, but to serve and oblige them is a 
still greater; and this, with independence, (no 
vulgar blessing) are what a profession at your age 
may reasonably promise : without it they are hardly 
attainable. Remember I speak from experience. 

In the mean time while your present situation 
lasts, which I hope will not be long, continue your 
kindness and confidence in me, by trusting me with 
the whole of it ; and surely you hazard nothing by 
so doing : that situation does not appear so new to 
me as it does to you. You well know the tenor 
of my conversation (urged at times perhaps a little 
farther than you liked) has been intended to pre- 
pare you for this event, and to familiarize your 
mind with this spectre, which you call by its worst 
name : but remember that « Honesta res est laeta 
paupertas.' I see it with respect, and so will every 
one, whose poverty is not seated in their mind». 
There is but one real evil in it (take my word who 
know it well) and that is, that you have less the 
| power of assisting others, who have not the same 
resources to support them. You have youth : you 
have many kind well-intentioned people belonging 
to you ; many acquaintance of your own, or fa- 
milies that will wish to serve you. Consider how 

* An excellent thought finely expressed. 



432 MEMOIRS OF 

many have had the same, or greater cause for de- 
jection, with none of these resources before their 
eyes. Adieu. I sincerely wish you happiness. 

P. S. I have just heard that a friend of mine is 
struck with a paralytic disorder, in which state it 
is likely he may live incapable of assisting himself, 
in the hands of servants or relations that only gape 
after his spoils, perhaps for years to come : think 
how many things may befall a man far worse than 
poverty or death *. 



LETTER II. 

MR. GRAY TO MR. NICHOLLS. 

Pembroke College, June 24, 17^9. 
AND so you have a garden of your own t, and you 
plant and transplant, and are dirty and amused ! 

* This letter was written a year or two before 
the time when this series of letters should com- 
mence; but as it was not communicated to me 
before the last section was printed off, and has a 
connexion with that which follows it, I chose to 
begin this section with it ; the date not appearing 
to be very material, and the pathetic and friendly 
turn of it strongly pleading for its insertion. 

+ Mr. Nicholls, by having pursued the advice of 
his correspondent, we find was now possessed of 
that competency which he wished him. Happy, 
not only in having so sage an adviser, but in his 
own good sense which prompted him to follow such 
advice. The gaiety, whim, and humour of this 
letter contrast prettily with the gravity and serious 
reflection of the former. 



MR. GRAY. 433 

Are not you ashamed of yourself? Why, I have no 
such thing, you monster, nor ever shall be either 
dirty or amused as long as I live. My gardens are 
in the windows like those of a lodger up three pair 
of stairs in Petticoat-lane, or Camomile-street, and 
they go to bed regularly under the same roof that 
I do. Dear, how charming it must be to walk out 
in one's own garding, and sit on a bench in the 
open air, with a fountain and leaden statue, and a 
rolling stone, and an arbour : have a care of sore 
throats though, and the agoe. 

However, be it known to you, though I have no 
garden, I have sold my estate and got a thousand 
guineas *, and fourscore pounds a year for my old 
aunt, and a twenty pound prize in the lottery, and 
Lord knows what arrears in the treasury, and am. 
a rich fellow enough, go to ; and a fellow that 
hath had losses, and one that hath two gowns, and 
every thing handsome about him, and in a few 
days shall have new window curtains : are you ad- 
vised of that ? ay, and a new mattress to lie upon. 

My Ode has been rehearsed again and again f , 
and the scholars have got scraps by heart *. I expect 
to see it torn piece-meal in the North-Briton before 
it is born. If you will come, you shall see it, and 
sing in it amidst a chorus from Salisbury and Glou- 
cester music meeting, great names there, and all 
well versed in Judas Maecabseus. I wish it were 
once over ; for then I immediately go for a few 
days to London, and so with Mr. Brown to Aston, 



* Consisting of houses on the west side of Hand- 
illey, London : Mrs. Olliffe was the aunt here men- 
tioned, who had a share in this estate, and for 
whom he procured this annuity* She died in 
; 1 177 1 , a few months before her nephew. 
1 f Ode for Music on the Duke of Grafton's In- 
stallation. See Poems, p. 25. His reason for 
writing it is given in the next letter. 

U 



434 MEMOIRS OF 

though I fear it will rain the whole summer, and 
Skiddaw will be invisible and inaccessible to 
mortals. 

I have got De la Landes' Voyage through Italy, 
in eight volumes ; he is a member of the academy 
of sciences, and pretty good to read. I have read 
too an octavo volume of Shenstone's Letters : poor 
man ! he was always wishing for money, for fame, 
and other distinctions ; and his whole philosophy 
consisted in living against his will in retirement, 
and in a place which his taste had adorned ; but 
which he only enjoyed when people of note came 
to see and commend it : his correspondence is about 
nothing else but this place and his own writings, 
with two or three neighbouring clergymen who 
wrote verses too. 

I have just found the beginning of a letter, 
which somebody had dropped : I should rather call 
it first-thoughts for the beginning of a letter ; for 
there are many scratches and corrections. As I 
cannot use it myself, (having got a beginning al- 
ready of my own) I send it for your use on some 
great occasion. 

Dear Sir, 

' After so long silence, the Jiopes of pardon and 
prospect of forgiveness might seem entirely extinct, 
or at least very remote, was I not truly sensible of 
your goodness and candour, which is the only asy- 
lum that my negligence can fly to, since every apo- 
logy would prove insufficient to counterbalance it, 
or alleviate my fault : how then shall my deficiency 
presume to make so bold an attempt, or be able 
to suffer the hardships of so rough a campaign V 
&c. &c. &c. 



MR. GRAY. 435 

LETTER III. 

MR. GRAY TO MR. BEATTIE. 

Cambridge, July 16, l?6p. 
THE late ceremony of the Duke of Grafton's in- 
stallation has hindered me from acknowledging 
sooner the satisfaction your friendly compliment 
gave me: I thought myself bound in gratitude to 
his grace, unasked, to take upon me the task of 
writing those verses which are usually set to music 
on this occasion *. I do not think them worth 
sending you, because they are by nature doomed to 
live but a single day ; or, if their existence is pro- 
longed beyond that date, it is only by means of 
newspaper parodies, and witless criticisms. This 
sort of abuse I had reason to expect, but did not 
think it worth while to avoid. 
Mr. Foulis is magnificent in his gratitude t : I 

* In a short note which he wrote to Mr. Ston- 
hewer, June 12, when, at his request, he sent him 
. the Ode in manuscript for his grace's perusal, he 
expresses this motive more fully. ' I did not in- 
tend the duke should have heard me till he could 
not help it. You are desired to make the best 
excuses you can to his grace for the liberty I have 
taken of praising him to his face ; but as somebody 
was necessarily to do this, I did not see why Grati- 
tude should sit silent and leave it to Expectation 
to sing, who certainly would have sung, and that a 
gorge deployce upon such an occasion.' 

t When the Glasgow edition of Mr. Gray's 
Poems was sold off (which it was in a short time) 
Mr. Foulis finding himself a considerable gainer, 



436 MEMOIRS OF 

cannot figure to myself how it can be worth his 
while to offer me such a present. You can judge 
better of it than I ; and if he does not hurt himself 
by it, I would accept his Homer with many thanks. 
I have not got or even seen it. 

I could wish to subscribe to his new edition of 
Milton, and desire to be set down for two copies of 
the large paper ; but you must inform me where 
and when I may pay the money. 

You have taught me to long for a second letter, 
and particularly for what you say will make the 
contents of it *. I have nothing to requite it with 
but plain and friendly truth, and that you shall 
have, joined to a zeal for your fame, and a plea- 
sure in your success. 

I am now setting forward on a journey towards 
the North of England; but it will not reach so far 
as I could wish. I must return hither before Mi- 
chaelmas, and shall barely have time to visit a few 
places, and a few, friends. 

mentioned to Mr. Beattie, that he wished to make 
Mr. Gray a present either of his Homer in 4 vols, 
folio, or the Greek Historians, printed likewise at 
his press, in C9 vols, duodecimo. 

* His correspondent had intimated to him his 
intention of sending him his first book of the Min- 
strel. See the seventh letter of this series. 



MR* GRAY* 437 



LETTER IV. 

MR. GRAY TO DR. WHARTON. 

Aston, Oct. J 8, 1769. 

I HOPE you got safe and well home after that 

troublesome night*. I long to hear you say so. 

For me, I have continued well, been so favoured by 

i the weather, that my walks have never once been 

* Dr. Wharton, who had intended to accompany 

j Mr. Gray to Keswick, was seized at Brough with a 
violent fit of his asthma, which obliged him to re- 
turn home. This was the reason that Mr. Gray 

i undertook to write the following journal of his tour 
for his friend's amusement. He sent it under dif- 

I ferent covers. I give it here in continuation. It 
may not be amiss, however, to hint to the reader, 
that if he expects to find elaborate and nicely- 

1 turned periods in this narration, he will be greatly 
disappointed. When Mr. Gray described places, 
he aimed only to be exact, clear, and intelligible ; 

1 to convey peculiar, not general ideas, and to paint 
by the eye, not the fancy. There have been 
many accounts of the Westmoreland and Cumber- 
land lakes, both before and since this was written, 
and all of them better calculated to please readers, 
who are fond of what they call fine writing : yet 
those who can content themselves with an elegant 
simplicity of narrative will, I flatter myself, find 
this to their taste ; they will perceive it was written 
with a view rather to inform than surprise ; and, 

I if they make it their companion when they take 
the same tour, it will enhance their opinion of its 
intrinsic excellence ; in this way I tried it myself 
before I resolved to print it. 



438 MEMOIRS OF 

hindered till yesterday (that is a fortnight and three 
or four days, and a journey of more than 3oO 
miles). I am now at Aston for two days. To-mor- 
row I go to Cambridge. Mason is not here, but 
Mr. Alderson receives me. According to my pro- 
mise I send you the first sheet of my journal, to be 
continued without end. 

Sept . 30. A mile and a half from Brough, where 
we parted, on a hill lay a great army* encamped : 
to the left opened a fine valley with green meadows 
and hedge-rows, a gentleman's house peeping forth 
from a grove of old trees. On a nearer approach 
appeared myriads of cattle and horses in the road 
itself, and in all the fields round me a brisk stream 
hurrying cross the way, thousands of clean healthy 
people in their best party-coloured apparel : farmers 
and their families, esquires and their daughters 
hastening up from the dales and down the fells 
from every quarter, glittering in the sun, and 
pressing forward to join the throng. While the 
dark hills, on whose tops the mists were yet 
hanging, served as a contrast to this gay and 
moving scene, which continued for near two miles 
more along the road, and the crowd (coming to- 
wards it) reached on as far as Appleby. On the 
ascent of the hill above Appleby the thick hanging 
wood, and the long reaches of the Eden, clear, 
rapid, and full as ever, winding below, with views 
of the castle and town, gave much employment to 
the mirror f: but now the sun was wanting, and 

• There is a great fair for cattle kept on the hill 
near Brough on this day and the preceding. 

f Mr. Gray carried usually with him on these 
tours a plano-convex mirror of about four inches 
diameter on a black foil, and bound up like a 
pocket-book. A glass of this sort is perhaps the 
best and most convenient substitute for a camera 
obscura of any thing that has hitherto been in> 
vented, and may be had of any optician. 



MR. GRAY. 439 

the sky overcast. Oats and barley cut every 
where, but not carried in. Passed Kirbythore, Sir 
William Dalston's house at Acorn-Bank, Whinfield 
Park, Harthorn Oaks, Countess-Pillar, Brougham- 
Castle, Mr. Brown's large new house ; crossed the 
Eden and the Eimot (pronounce Eeman) with its 
green vale, and dined at three o'clock with Mrs. 
Buchanan at Penrith, on trout and partridge. In 
the afternoon walked up Beacon-hill, a mile to the 
top, and could see Ulswater through an opening in 
the bosom of that cluster of broken mountains, 
which the doctor well remembers, Whinfield and 
Lowther Parks, &c. and the craggy tops of a hun- 
dred nameless hills : these lie to west and south. 
To the north a great extent of black and dreary 
plains. To the east, Cross-fell, just visible through 
mists and vapours hovering round it. 

Oct. 1. A gray autumnal day, the air perfectly 
calm and mild, went to see Ulswater, five miles 
distant ; soon left the Keswick-road, and turned to 
the left through shady lanes along the vale of 
Eenian, which runs rapidly on near the way, rip- 
pling over the stones ; to the right is Delmaine, a 
large fabric of pale red stone, with nine windows in 
front and seven on the side, built by Mr. Hassle, 
behind it a fine lawn surrounded by woods, and a 
long rocky eminence rising over them : a clear and 
brisk rivulet runs by the house to join the Eeman, 
whose course is in sight and at a small distance. 
Farther on appears Hatton St. John, a castle-like 
old mansion of Mr. Huddleston. Approached Dun- 
mallert, a fine pointed hill covered with wood, 
planted by old Mr. Hassle before-mentioned, who 
lives always at home, and delights in planting. 
Walked over a spungy meadow or two, and began 
to mount the hill through a broad straight green 
alley among the trees^ and with some toil gained 
the summit. From hence saw the lake opening di- 
rectly at my feet, majestic in its calmness, clear 
and smooth as a blue mirror, with winding shores 



440 MEMOIRS OF 

and low points of land coveied with green inclo- 
sures, white farm-houses looking out among the 
trees, and cattle feeding. The water is almost 
every where bordered with cultivated lands, gently 
sloping upwards from a mile to a quarter of a 
mile in breadth, till they reach the feet of the 
mountains, which rise very rude and awful with 
their broken tops on either hand. Directly in 
front, at better than three miles distance, Place- 
Fell, one of the bravest among them, pushes its 
bold broad breast into the midst of the lake, and 
forces it to alter its course, forming first a large 
bay to the left, and then bending to the right. I 
descended Dunmallert again by a side avenue, that 
was only not perpendicular, and came to Barton- 
bridge over the Eeman ; then walking through a 
path in a wood round the bottom of the hill, came 
forth where the Eeman issues out of the lake, and 
continued my way along its western shore close to 
the water, and generally on a level with it. Saw a 
cormorant flying over it and fishing. The figure 
of the lake nothing resembles that laid down in our 
maps : it is nine miles long, and at widest under 
a mile in breadth. After extending itself three 
miles and a half in a line to the south-west, it 
turns at the foot of Place-Fell almost due west, 
and is here not twice the breadth of the Thames at 
London. It is soon again interrupted by the root 
of Helvellyn, a lofty and very rugged mountain, 
and spreading again turns off to south-east, and is 
lost among the deep recesses of theihills. To this 
second turning I pursued my way about four miles 
along its borders beyond a village scattered among 
trees, and called Watcr-Mallock, in a pleasant 
grave day, perfectly calm and warm, but without 
a gleam of sunshine ; then the sky seeming to 
thicken, and the valley to grow more desolate, and 
evening drawing on, I returned by the way I came 
to Penrith. 

Oct. 2. I set out at ten for Keswick, by the road 



MR. GRAY. 441 

we went in 11 67; saw Greystock town and castle 
to the right, which lie about three miles from Uls- 
water over the fells ; passed through Penradoch and 
Threlcot at the foot of Saddleback, whose furr 
rowed sides were gilt by the noon-day sun, whilst 
its brow appeared of a sad purple from the shadow 
of the clouds as they sailed slowly by it. The 
broad and green valley of Gardies and Lowside, 
with a swift stream glittering among the cottages 
and meadows, lay to the left, and the much finer 
but narrower valley of St. John's opening into it : 
Hill-top, the large though low mansion of the Gas- 
karths, now a farm-house, seated on an eminence 
among woods, under a steep fell, was what ap- 
peared the most conspicuous, and beside it a great 
rock, like some ancient tower nodding to its fall. 
Passed by the side of Skiddaw and its cub called 
Latter-rig ; and saw from an eminence, at two miles 
distance, the vale of Elysium in all its verdure ; 
the sun then playing on the bosom of the lake, and 
lighting up all the mountains with its lustre. 
Dined by two o'clock at the Queen's Head, and 
then straggled out alone to the Parsonage, where I 
saw the sun set in all its glory. 

Oct. 3. A heavenly day; rose at seven, and 
walked out under the conduct of my landlord to 
Borrowdale; the grass was covered with a hoar- 
frost, which soon melted and exhaled in a thin 
bluish smoke ; crossed the meadows, obliquely 
catching a diversity of views among the hills over 
the lake and islands, and changing prospect at 
every ten paces. Left Cockshut (which we formerly 
mounted) and Castle-hill, a loftier and more rugged 
hill behind me, and drew near the foot of Walla- 
crag, whose bare and rocky brow cut perpendicu- 
larly down above 400 feet (as I guess, though 
the people £all it much more) awfully overlooks 
the way. Our path here tends to the left, and the 
ground gently rising and covered with a glade of 
scattering trees and bushes on the very margin of 

U 2 



412 MEMOIRS OF 

the water, opens both ways the most delicious view 
that my eyes ever beheld ; opposite are the thick 
woods of Lord Egremont and Newland- valley, with 
green and smiling fields embosomed in the dark cliffs ; 
to the left the jaws of Borrowdale, with that tur- 
bulent chaos of mountain behind mountain, rolled 
in confusion; beneath you and stretching far away 
to the right, the shining purity of the lake re- 
flecting rocks, woods, fields, and inverted tops of 
hills, just ruffled by the breeze, enough to show 
it is alive, with the white buildings of Keswick, 
Crosthwaite church, and Skiddaw for a back 
ground at a distance. Behind you the magnificent 
heights of Walla-crag : here the glass played its 
part divinely, the place is called Carf-close- reeds ; 
and I chose to set down these barbarous names, that 
any body may inquire on the place, and easily find 
the particular station that I mean. This scene 
continues to Barrow-gate ; and a little farther, 
passing a brook called Barrow-beck, we entered 
Borrowdale : the crags named Lawdoor-banks begin 
now to impend terribly over your way, and more 
terribly when you hear that three years since an 
immense mass of rock tumbled at once from the 
brow, and barred all access to the dale (for this is 
the only road) till they could work their way 
through it. Luckily no one was passing at the 
time of this fall ; but down the side of the moun- 
tain, and far into the lake, lie dispersed the huge 
fragments of this ruin in all shapes and in all di- 
rections : something farther we turned aside into a 
coppice, ascending a little in front of Lawdoor 
water-fall; the height appeared to be about 200 
feet, the quantity of water not great, though (these 
three days excepted) it had rained daily in the hills 
for near two months before : but then the stream 
was nobly broken, leaping from rock to rock, and 
foaming with fury. On one side a towering crag 
that spired up to equal, if not overtop, the neigh- 
bouring cliffs (this lay all in shade and darkness) : 



MR. GRAY. 443 

on the other hand a rounder broader projecting hill 
shagged with wood, and illuminated by the sun, 
which glanced sideways on the upper part of the 
cataract. The force of the water wearing a deep 
channel in the ground, hurries away to join the 
lake. We descended again, and passed the stream 
over a rude bridge. Soon after we came under 
Gowdar-crag, a hill more formidable to the eye, 
and to the apprehension, than that of Lawdoor ; 
the rocks at top deep-cloven perpendicularly, by 
the rains, hanging loose and nodding forwards, 
seem just starting from their base in shivers. The 
whole way down, and the road on both sides is 
strewed with piles of the fragments strangely 
thrown across each other, and of a dreadful bulk ; 
the place reminds me of those passes in the Alps, 
where the guides tell you to move on with speed, 
and say nothing, lest the agitation of the air should 
loosen the snows above, and bring down a mass that 
would overwhelm a caravan. I took their counsel 
here, and hastened on in silence. 

Non ragioniam di lor, ma guar da, epassaf 

The hills here are clothed all up their steep sides 
with oak, ash, birch, holly, &c. ; some of it has 
been cut forty years ago, some within these eight 
years ; yet all is sprung again, green, flourishing, 
and tall, for its age, in a place where no soil ap- 
pears but the staring rock, and where a man could 
scarce stand upright : here we met a civil young 
farmer overseeing his reapers (for it is now oat- 
harvest) who conducted us to a neat white house 
in the village of Grange, which is built on a rising 
ground in the midst of a valley ; round it the 
mountains form an awful amphitheatre, and 
through it obliquely runs the Derwent clear as 
glass, and showing under its bridge every trout 
that passes. Beside the village rises a round emi- 
nence of rock covered entirely with old trees, and 
over that more proudly towers Castle-crag, in- 



414 MEMOIRS OF 

vested also with wood on its sides, and bearing on 
its naked top!; some traces of a fort, said to be 
Roman. By the side of this hill, which almost 
blocks up the way, the valley turns to the left, 
and contracts its dimensions till there is hardly 
any road but the rocky bed of the river. The 
wood of the mountains increases, and their sum- 
mits grow loftier to the eye, and of more fantastic 
forms ; among them appear Eagle's-cliff, Dove's- 
nest, Whitedale-pike, &c. celebrated names in the 
annals of Keswick. The dale opens about four 
miles higher till you come to Seawhaite (where lies 
the way mounting the hills to the right that leads 
to the Wadd-mines) ; all farther access is here 
barred to prying mortals, only there is a little 
path winding over the fells, and for some weeks in 
the year passable to the dalesmen; but the moun- 
tains know well that these innocent people will not 
reveal the mysteries of their ancient kingdom, 
*the reign of Chaos and Old Night:' only I learned 
that this dreadful road, dividing again, leads one 
branch to Ravenglas, and the other to Hawkshead. 
For me I went no farther than the farmer's 
(better than four miles from Keswick) at Grange ; 
his mother and he brought us butter that Siserah 
would have jumped at, though not in a lordly 
dish, bowls of milk, thin oaten cakes, and ale ; 
and we had carried a cold tongue thither with us. 
Our farmer was himself the man that last year 
plundered the eagle's eyrie; all the dale are up in 
arms on such an occasion, for they lose abundance 
of lambs yearly, not to mention hares, partridges, 
grouse, &c. He was let down from the cliff in 
ropes to the shelf of the rock on which the nest 
was built, the people above shouting and hollowing 
to fright the old birds, which flew screaming 
round, but did not dare to attack him. He 
brought off the eaglet (for there is rarely more 
than one) and an addle egg. The nest was roundish, 
and more than a yard over, made of twigs twisted 



MR. GRAY. 445 

together. Seldom a year passes but they take the 
brood or eggs, and sometimes they shoot one, 
sometimes the other, parent ; but the survivor has 
always found a mate (probably in Ireland), and they 
breed near the old place. By his description I 
learn, that this species is the Erne, the vulture Al- 
bicilla of Linnaeus, in his last edition (but in yours 
Falco Albicilla), so consult him and Pennant about 
it. 

We returned leisurely home the way we came ; 
but saw a new landscape ; the features indeed were 
the same in part, but many new ones were dis- 
closed by the mid-day sun, and the tints were en- 
tirely changed : take notice this was the best, or 
perhaps the only day for going up Skiddaw, but I 
thought it better employed ; it was perfectly serene, 
and hot as midsummer. 

In the evening I walked alone down to the lake 
by the side of Crow-park after sunset, and saw the 
solemn colouring of night draw on, the last gleam 
of sunshine fading away on the hill-tops, the deep 
serene of the waters, and the long shadows of the 
mountains thrown across them, till they nearly 
touched the hithermost shore. At a distance were 
heard the murmurs of many water -falls, not audi- 
ble in the day-time; I wished for the moon, but 
she was dark to me and silent, 

Hid in her vacant interlunar cave. 

Oct. 4. I walked to Crow-park, now a rough 
pasture, once a glade of ancient oaks, whose large 
roots still remain on the ground, but nothing has 
sprung from them. If one single tree had re- 
mained, this would have been an unparalleled 
spot; and Smith judged right, when he took his 
print of the lake from hence, for it is a gentle 
eminence, not too high, on the very margin of the 
water, and commanding it from end to end, looking 
full into the gorge of Borrowdale. I prefer it even 
to Cockshut-hill, which lies beside it, and to which 



446 MEMOIRS OF 

I walked in the afternoon; it is covered with 
young trees both sown and planted, oak, spruce, 
Scotch fir, &c. all which thrive wonderfully. There 
is an easy ascent to the top, and the view far pre- 
ferable to that on Castle-hill (which you remember), 
because this is lower and nearer to the lake: for I 
find all points, that are much elevated, spoil the 
beauty of the valley, and make its parts, which are 
not large, look poor and diminutive #. While I 
was here a little shower fell, red clouds came 
marching up the hills from the east, and part of a 
bright rainbow seemed to rise along the side of 
Castle-hill. 

From hence I got to the Parsonage a little before 
sunset, and saw in my glass a picture, that if I 
could transmit to you, and fix it in all the softness 
of its living colours, would fairly sell for a thou- 
sand pounds. This is the sweetest scene I can yet 
discover in point of pastoral beauty; the rest are 
in a sublimer style. 

Oct. 5. I walked through the meadows and corn- 
fields to the Derwent, and crossing it went up 

* The picturesque point is always thus low in 
all prospects ; a truth, which though the landscape 
painter knows, he cannot always observe ; since the 
patron who employs him to take a view of his 
place usually carries him to some elevation for 
that purpose, in order, I suppose, that he may 
have more of him for his money. Yet when I say 
this, I would not be thought to mean that a draw- 
ing should be made from the lowest point possible; 
as for instance, in this very view, from the lake 
itself, for then a fore-ground would be wanting. 
On this account, when I sailed on Derwentwater, 
I did not receive so much pleasure from the superb 
amphitheatre of mountains around me as when, 
like Mr. Gray, I traversed its margin; and I there- 
fore think he did not lose much by not taking 
boat. 



MR. GRAY. 447 

How-hill ; it looks along Bassingthwaite-water, and 
sees at the same time the course of the river, and a 
part of the upper-lake, with a full view of Skiddaw ; 
then I took my way through Portingskall village 
to the Park, a hill so called, covered entirely with 
wood; it is all a mass of crumbling slate. Passed 
round its foot between the trees and the edge of the 
water, and came to a peninsula that juts out into 
the lake, and looks along it both ways ; in front 
rises Walla-crag and Castle-hill, the town, the road 
to Penrith, Skiddaw, and Saddleback. Returning, 
met a brisk and cold north-eastern blast that ruf- 
fled all the surface of the lake, and made it rise 
in little waves that broke at the foot of the wood. 
After dinner walked up the Penrith road two miles, 
- or more, and turning into a corn-field to the right, 
called Castle-rig, saw a Druid-circle of large stones, 
108 feet in diameter, the biggest not eight feet 
high, but most of them still erect ; they are fifty 
in number*. The valley of St. John's appeared in 
sight, and the summits of Catchidecam (called by 
Camden, Casticand) and Helvellyn, said to be as 
high as Skiddaw, and to rise from a much higher 
base. 

Oct. 6. Went in a chaise eight miles along the 
east side of Bassingthwaite-water to Ousebridge 
(pronounced Ews-bridge) ; the road in some part 
made and very good, the rest slippery and dan- 
gerous cart-road, or narrow rugged lanes, but no 
precipices ; it runs directly along the foot of Skid- 
daw: opposite to Widhopebrows, clothed to the 
top with wood, a very beautiful view opens down 
to the lake, which is narrower and longer than that 
of Keswick, less broken into bays, and without 
islands t. At the foot of it, a few paces from the 

* See this piece of antiquity more fully de- 
scribed, with a plate annexed, by Mr. Pennant, in 
his Second Tour to Scotland in 1772, p. 38. 

t It is somewhat extraordinary that Mr. Gray 



448 MEMOIRS OF 

brink, gently sloping upwards, stands Armathwaite 
in a thick grove of Scotch firs, commanding a noble 
view directly up the lake : at a small distance be- 
hind the house is a large extent of wood, and still 
behind this a ridge of cultivated hills, on which, 
according to the Keswick proverb, the sun always 
shines. The inhabitants here, on the contrary, 
call the vale of Derwent-water^e Devil's Chajnber- 
pot, and pronounce the name of Skiddaw-fell, 
which terminates here, with a sort of terror and 
aversion. Armathwaite house is a modern fabric, 
not large, and built of dark-red stone, belonging to 
Mr. Spedding, whose grandfather was steward to 
old Sir James Lowther, and bought this estate of 
the Himers. The sky was overcast and the wind 
cool; so, after dining at a public-house, which 
stands here near the bridge (that crosses the Der- 
went just where it issues from the lake), and 
sauntering a little by th"e water-side, I came home 
again. The turnpike is finished from Cocker- 
mouth hither, five miles, and is carrying on to 
Penrith : several little showers to-day. A man 
came in, who said there was snow on Cross-fell this 
morning. 

Oct. 7. I walked in the morning to Crow-park, 
and in the evening up Penrith road. The clouds 
came rolling up the mountains all round very dark, 
yet the moon shone at intervals. It was too damp 
to go towards the lake. To-morrow I mean to bid 
farewell to Keswick. 

Botany might be studied here to great advantage 
at another season, because of the great variety of 
soils and elevations, all lying within a small com- 
pass. I observed nothing but several curious li- 



omitted to mention the islands on Derwentwater ; 
one of which, I think they call it Vicars' Island, 
makes a principal object in the scene. See Smith's 
View of Derwentwater. 



MR, GRAY. 449 

chens, and plenty of gale or Dutch myrtle per- 
fuming the borders of the lake, This^ year the 
Wadd-mine had been opened, which is done once 
in five years ; it is taken out in lumps sometimes 
as big as a man's fist, and will undergo no prepara- 
tion by fire, not being fusible ; when it is pure, 
soft, black, and close-grained, it is worth some- 
times thirty shillings a pound, There are no char 
ever taken in these lakes, but plenty in B utter = 
mere-water, which lies a little way north of Bor- 
rowdaie, about Martinmas, which are potted here. 
They sow chiefly oats and bigg here, which are 
now cutting and still on the ground ; the rains 
have done much hurt : yet observe, the soil is so 
thin and light, that no day has passed in which 1 
could not walk out with ease, and you know I am 
no lover of dirt. Fell mutton is now in season for 
about six weeks ; it grows fat on the mountains, 
and nearly resembles venison. Excellent pike and 
perch, here called Bass; trout is out of season; 
partridge in great plenty. 

Oct. 8. I left Keswick and took the Ambleside 
road in a gloomy morning ; and about two miles 
from the town mounted an eminence called Castle- 
rigg, and the sun breaking out, discovered the most 
enchanting view I have yet seen of the whole valley 
hehind me, the two lakes, the river, the mountains, 
all in their glory ; so that I had almost a mind to 
have gone back again. The road in some few parts 
is not completed, yet good country road, through 
sound but narrow and stony lanes, very safe in 
broad day-light. This is the case about Causeway- 
foot, and among Naddle-fells to Lancwaite. The 
vale you go in has little breadth ; the mountains 
are vast and rocky, the fields little and poor, and 
the inhabitants are now making hay, and see not 
the sun by two hours in a day so long as at Kes- 
wick. Came to the foot of Helvellyn, along which 
runs an excellent road, looking down from a little 



450 MEMOIRS OF 

height on Lee's-water, (called also Thirl-meer, or 
Wiborn-water) and soon descending on its margin. 
The lake looks black from its depth, and from the 
gloom of the vast crags that scowl over it, though 
really clear as glass ; it is narrow, and about three 
miles long, resembling a river in its course; little 
shining torrents hurry down the rocks to join it* 
but not a bush to over-shadow them, or cover their 
march ; all is rock and loose stones up to the very 
brow, which lies so near your way, that not above 
half the height of Helvellyn can be seen. 

Next I passed by the little chapel of Wiborn, 
out of which the Sunday congregation were then 
issuing; soon after a beck near Dunmeil-raise, 
when I entered Westmoreland a second time ; and 
now began to see Holm-crag, distinguished from its 
rugged neighbours, not so much by its height as 
by the strange broken outlines of its top, like some 
gigantic building demolished, and the stones that 
composed it flung across each other in wild con- 
fusion. Just beyond it opens one of the sweetest 
landscapes that art ever attempted to imitate. The 
bosom of the mountains spreading here into a 
broad basin discovers in the midst Grasmere-water ; 
its margin is hollowed into small bays, with bold 
eminences; some of rock, some of soft turf, that 
half conceal, and vary the figure of the little lake 
they command : from the shore, a low promontory 
pushes itself far into the water, and on it stands a 
white village with the parish church rising in the 
midst of it: hanging inclosurcs, corn-fields, and 
meadows green as an emerald, with their trees and 
hedges, and cattle, fill up the whole space from the 
edge of the water: and just opposite to you is a 
large farm-house at the bottom of a steep smooth 
lawn, embosomed in old woods, which climb half- 
way up the mountain's side, and discover above 
them a broken line of crags that crown the scene. 
Not a single red tile, no flaring gentleman's house, 



MR. GRAY. 451 

or garden walls, break in upon the repose of this 
lttle unsuspected paradise ; but all is peace, rus- 
ticity, and happy povWty in its neatest most be- 
coming attire. 

The road winds here over Grasmere-hill, whose 
rocks soon conceal the water from your sight ; yet it is 
continued along behind them, and contracting itself 
to a river, communicates with Ridale-water, another 
small lake, but of inferior size and beauty ; it seems 
shallow too, for large patches of reeds appear pretty 
ftir within it. Into this vale the road descends. 
On the opposite banks large and ancient woods 
mount up the hills ; and just to the left of our way 
stands Ridale-hall, the family-seat of Sir Michael 
Fleming, a large old-fashioned fabric, surrounded 
with wood. Sir Michael is now on his travels, 
ana 1 all this timber, far and wide, belongs to him. 
Near the house rises a huge crag, called Ridale- 
head, which is said to command a full view of 
Wynander-mere, and I doubt it not ; for within 
a mile that great lake is visible, even from the 
road ; as to going up the crag, one might as well 
go up Skiddaw. 

I now reached Ambleside, eighteen miles from 
Keswick, meaning to lie there; but, on looking 
into the best bed-chamber, dark and damp as a 
cellar, grew delicate, gave up Wynander-mere in 
despair, and resolved I would go on to Kendal 
directly, fourteen miles farther*. The road in 

* By not staying a little at Ambleside, Mr. Gray 
lost the sight of two most magnificent cascades ; the 
one not above half a mile behind the inn, the other 
down Ridaie-crag, where Sir Michael Fleming is 
now making a pathway to the top of it. These, 
when I saw them, were in full torrent, whereas 
Lawdoor water-fall, which I visited in the evening 
of the very same day, was almost without a stream. 
Hence I conclude that this distinguished feature in 
the vale of Keswick is, like most northern rivers, 



452 MEMOIRS OF 

general fine turnpike, but some parts (about three 
miles in all) not made, yet without danger. 

For this determination I was unexpectedly well 
rewarded : for the afternoon was fine, and the road, 
for the space of full five miles, ran along the side 
of Wynander-mere, with delicious views across it, 
and almost from one end to the other. It is ten 
miles in length, and at most a mile over, resembling 
the course of some vast and magnificent river ; but 
no flat marshy grounds, no osier-beds, or patches 
of scrubby plantations on its banks : at the head 
two valleys open among the mountains ; one, that 
by which we came down ; the other Langsledale, 
in which Wry-nose and Hard-knot, two great 
mountains, rise above the rest : from thence the 
fells visibly sink, and ! soften along its sides ; 
sometimes they run into it (but with a gentle de- 
clivity) in their own dark and natural complexion : 
oftener they are green and cultivated, with farms 
interspersed, and round eminences, on the border 
covered with trees : towards the south it seemed to 



only in high beauty during bad weather. But his 
greatest loss was in not seeing a small water-fall 
visible only through the window of a ruined sum- 
mer-house in Sir Michael's orchard. Here Nature 
has performed every thing in little that she usually 
executes on her largest scale ; and on that account, 
like the miniature painter, seems to have finished 
every part of it in a studied manner ; not a little 
fragment of rock thrown into the basin, not a 
single stem of brushwood that starts from its craggy 
sides but has its picturesque meaning ; and the little 
central stream dashing down a cleft of the darkest- 
coloured stone, produces an effect of light and 
shadow beautiful beyond description. This little 
theatrical scene might be painted as large as the 
original, on a canvas not bigger than those which 
are usually dropped in the Opera-house. 



MR. GRAY. 453 

break into larger bays, with several islands and a 
wider extent of cultivation. The way rises con- 
tinually, till at a place called Orrest-head it turns 
south-east, losing sight of the water. 

Passed by ing's-Chapel and Staveley; but I can 
say no farther, for the dusk of evening coming on, 
I entered Kendal almost in the dark, and could 
distinguish only a shadow of the castle on a hill, 
and tenter-grounds spread far and wide round the 
town, which I mistook for houses. My inn promised 
sadly, having two wooden galleries, like Scotland, 
in front of it: it was indeed an old ill-contrived 
house, but kept by civil sensible people ; so I stayed 
two nights with them, and fared and slept very 
comfortably. 

Oct. g. The air mild as summer, all corn off 
the ground, and the sky-larks singing aloud (by 
the way, I saw not one at Keswick, perhaps because 
the place abounds in birds of prey). I went up 
the castle-hill ; the town consists chiefly of three 
nearly parallel streets, almost a mile long ; except 
these, all the other houses seem as if they had been 
dancing a country-dance, and were out : there they 
stand back to back, corner to corner, some up hill, 
some down, without intent or meaning. Along by 
their side runs a fine brisk stream, over which 
are three stone bridges : the buildings (a few 
comfortable houses excepted) are mean, of stone, 
and covered with a bad rough-cast. Near the end 
of the town stands a handsome house of Col. 
Wilson's, and adjoining to it the church, a very large 
gothic fabric, with a square tower ; it has no par- 
ticular ornaments but double isles, and at the east 
end four chapels or choirs ; one of the Parrs, another 
of the Stricklands ; the third is the proper choir of 
the church, and the fourth of the Bellinghams, a 
family now extinct. There is an altar-tomb of one 
of them dated 1577, with a flat brass, arms and 
quarterings ; and in the window their arms alone, 
arg. a hunting-horn, sab. strung gules. In the 



454 MEMOIRS OF 

Stricklands' chapel several modern monuments, 
and another old altar-tomb, not belonging to the 
family : on the side of it a fess dancetty between 
ten billets, Deincourt. In the Parrs' chapel is a 
third altar-tomb in the corner, no figure or in- 
scription, but on the side, cut in stone, an escutcheon 
of Ross of Kendal (three water-budgets), quartering 
Parr (two bars in a bordure engrailed); 2dly, an 
escutcheon, vaire, a fess for Ma^rmion ; 3dly, an 
escutcheon, three chevronels braced, and a chief 
(which I take for Fitzhugh) : at the foot is an 
escutcheon, surrounded with the garter, bearing 
Roos and Parr quarterly, quartering the other two 
before-mentioned. I have no books to look in, 
therefore cannot say whether this is the Lord Parr 
of Kendal, Queen Catharine's father, or her brother 
the Marquis of Northampton : perhaps it is a ce- 
notaph for the latter, who was buried at Warwick 
in 1571. The remains of the castle are seated on 
a fine hill on the side of the river opposite the 
town ; almost the whole inclosure of the walls re- 
mains, with four towers, two square and two round, 
but their upper part and embattlements are de- 
molished : it is of rough stone and cement, with- 
out any ornament or arms, round, inclosing a court 
of like form, and surrounded by a moat ; nor ever 
could it have been larger than it is, for there are 
no traces of outworks. There is a good view of the 
town and river, with a fertile open valley through 
which it winds. 

After dinner I went along the Milthrop turnpike, 
four miles, to see the falls, or force, of the river 
Kent; came to Sizergh (pronounced Siser), and 
turned down a lane to the left. This seat of the 
Stricklands, an old Catholic family, is an ancient 
hall-house, with a very large tower embattled ; the 
rest of the buildings added to it are of later date, 
but all is white, and seen to advantage on a back 
ground of old trees ; there is a small park also, well 
wooded. Opposite to this, turning to the left, 1 



MR. GRAY. 455 

soon came to the river ; it works its way in a narrow 
and deep rocky channel overhung with trees. The 
calmness and brightness of the evening, the roar 
of the waters, and the thumping of huge hammers 
at an iron-forge not far distant, made it a singular 
walk ; but as to the falls (for there are two) they 
are not four feet high. I went on, down to the 
forge, and saw the demons at work by the light of 
their own fires : the iron is brought in pigs to Mil- 
throp by sea from Scotland, &c. and is here beat 
into bars and plates. Two miles further, at Levens, 
is the seat of Lord Suffolk, where he sometimes 
passes the summer : it was a favourite place of his 
late countess ; but this I did not see. 

Oct. 10. I proceeded by Burton to Lancaster, 
twenty-two miles ; very good country, well inclosed 
and wooded, with some common interspersed* 
Passed at the foot of Farlton-knot, a high fell four 
miles north of Lancaster ; on a rising ground called 
Boulton (pronounced Bouton) we had a full view of 
Cartmell-sands, with here and there a passenger 
riding over them (it being low water) ; the points 
of Furness shooting far into the sea, and lofty 
l mountains, partly covered with clouds, extending 
north of them. Lancaster also appeared very con- 
spicuous and fine; for its most distinguished fea- 
tures, the castle and church, mounted on a green ■ 
eminence, were all that could be seen. Woe is 
me ! when I got thither, it was the second day of 
their fair ; the inn, in the principal street, was 
a great old gloomy house full of people ; but I 
found tolerable quarters, and even slept two nights 
in peace. 

In a fine afternoon I ascended the castle-hill; it 
takes up the higher top of the eminence on which 
it stands, and is irregularly round, encompassed 
with a deep moat : in front, towards the town, is 
a magnificent gothic gateway, lofty and huge; the 
overhanging battlements are supported by a triple 
range of corbels, the intervals pierced through, and 



456 MEMOIRS OF 

showing the day from above. On its top rise light 
watch-towers of small height. It opens below with 
a grand pointed arch : over this is a wrought 
tabernacle, doubtless once containing its founder's 
figure ; on one side a shield of France semi-quartered 
with England ; on the other the same, with a label, 
ermine, for John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster. This 
opens to a court within, which I did not much care 
to enter, being the county-gaol, and full of pri- 
soners, both criminals and debtors. From this 
gateway the walls continue and join it to a vast 
square tower of great height, the lower part at least 
of remote antiquity ; for it has small round-headed 
lights with plain short pillars on each side of them : 
there is a third tower, also square and of less di- 
mensions. This is all the castle. Near it, and but 
little lower, stands the church, a large and plain 
gothic fabric ; the high square tower at the west 
end has been rebuilt of late years, but nearly in 
the same style: there are no ornaments of arms, 
&c. any where to be seen : within, it is lightsome 
and spacious, but not one monument of antiquity, 
or piece of painted glass, is left. From the church- 
yard there is an extensive sea-view (for now the 
tide had almost covered the sands, and filled the 
river), and besides the greatest part of Furness, I 
could distinguish Peel-castle on the isle of Fowdrey, 
which lies off its southern extremity. The town is 
built on the slope, and at the foot of the castle-hill, 
more than twice the bigness of Aukland, with 
many neat buildings of white stone, but a little 
disorderly in their position, and, 'ad libitum,' 
like Kendal : many also extend below on the keys 
by the river-side, where a number of ships were 
moored, some of them three-masted vessels decked 
out with their colours in honour of the fair. Here 
is a good bridge of four arches over the Lune, 
that runs, when the tide is out, in two streams 
divided by a bed of gravel, which is not covered 
but in spring-tides ; below the town it widens to 



MR. GRAY. 457 

near the breadth of the Thames at London, and 
meets the sea at five or six miles distance to south- 
west. 

Oct. li. I crossed the river and walked over a 
peninsula, three miles, to the village of Pooton, 
which stands on the beach. An old fisherman 
mending his nets (while I inquired about the danger 
of passing those sands) told me, in his dialect, a 
moving story ; how a brother of the trade, a cockier, 
as he styled him, driving a little cart with two 
daughters (women grown) in it, and his wife on 
horseback following, set out one day to pass the 
seven-mile sands, as they had frequently been used 
to do, (for nobody in the village knew them better 
than the old man did ; when they were about half- 
way over, a thick fog rose, and as they advanced 
they found the water much deeper than they ex- 
pected : the old man was puzzled ; he stopped, and 
said he would go a little way to find some mark he 
was acquainted with ; they staid awhile for him ; 
but in vain ; they called aloud, but no reply : at 
last the young women pressed their mother to think 
where they were, and go on ; she would not leave 
the place ; she wandered about forlorn and amazed ; 
she would not quit her horse and get into the cart 
with them : they determined, after much time 
wasted, to turn back, and give themselves up to 
the guidance of their horses. The old woman 
was soon washed off, and perished ; the poor girls 
clung close to their cart, and the horse, sometimes 
wading and sometimes swimming, brought them 
back to land alive, but senseless with terror and 
distress, and unable for many days to give any ac- 
count of themselves. The bodies of their parents 
were found next ebb ; that of the father a very few 
paces distant from the spot where he had left them. 

In the afternoon I wandered about the town, and 
by the key, till it grew dark. 

Oct, 12. I set out for Settle by a fine turn- 
pike-road, twenty-nine miles, through a rich and 

X 



458 MEMOIRS OF 

beautiful inclosed country, diversified with frequent 
villages and churches, very unequal ground ; and 
on the left the river Lune winding in a deep 
valley, its hanging banks clothed with fine woods, 
through which you catch long reaches of the water, 
as the road winds about at a considerable height 
above it. In the most picturesque part of the 
way, I passed the park belonging to the Hon. Mr. 
Clifford, a Catholic. The grounds between him 
and the river are indeed charming * ; the house is 
ordinary, and the park nothing but a rocky fell 
scattered over with ancient hawthorns. Next I 
came to Hornby, a little town on the river Wanning, 
over which a handsome bridge is now building ; the 
castle, in a lordly situation, attracted me, so I 
walked up the hill to it : first presents itself a large 
white ordinary sashed gentleman's house, and be- 
hind it rises the ancient Keep, built by Edward 
Stanley, Lord Monteagle. He died about 152Q, 
in King Henry the Eighth's time. It is now only 
a shell ; the rafters are laid within it as for flooring. 
I went up a winding stone staircase in one corner 
to the leads, and at the angle is a single hexagon 
watch-tower, rising some feet higher, fitted up in 

* This scene opens just three miles from Lan- 
caster, on what is called the Queen's Road. To 
see the view in perfection, you must go into a 
field on the left. Here Ingleborough, behind a 
variety of lesser mountains, makes the back -ground 
of the prospect : on each hand of the middle 
distance rise two sloping hills ; the left clotked 
with thick woods, the right with variegated rock 
and herbage : between them, in the most fertile of 
valleys, the Lune serpentizes for many a mile, and 
comes forth ample and clear, through a well- 
wooded and richly-pastured fore-ground. Every 
feature, which constitutes a perfect landscape of 
the extensive sort, is here not only boldly marked, 
but also in its best position. 



MR. GRAY. 459" 

the taste of a modern summer-house, with sash- 
windows in gilt frames, a stucco cupola, and on 
the top a vast gilt eagle, built by Mr. Charteris, 
the present possessor. He is the second son of 
the Earl of Wemys, brother to the Lord Elcho, 
and grandson to Col. Charteris, whose name he 
bears. 

From the leads of the tower there is a fine view 
of the country round, and much wood near the 
castle. Ingleborough, which I had seen before 
distinctly at Lancaster to north-east, was now com- 
pletely wrapped in clouds, all but its summit ; 
which might have been easily mistaken for a long 
black cloud too, fraught with an approaching 
storm. Now our road began gradually to mount 
towards the Apennine, the trees growing less and 
thinner of leaves, till we came to Ingleton, eighteen 
miles ; it is a pretty village, situated very high, 
and yet in a valley at the foot of that huge monster 
of nature, Ingleborough : two torrents cross it, 
with great stones rolled along their beds instead of 
water; and over them are flung two handsome 
arches. The nipping air, though the afternoon was 
growing very bright, now taught us we were in 
Craven ; the road was all up and down, though 
nowhere very steep; to the left were mountain- 
tops, to the righ ta wide valley, all inclosed ground, 
and beyond it high hills again. In approach- 
ing Settle, the crags on the left drew nearer to 
our way, till we descended Brunton-brow into a 
II cheerful valley (though thin of trees) to Giggles- 
wick, a village with a small piece of water by its 
ek J ! side, covered over with coots ; near it a church, 
i\-\ which belongs also to Settle; and half a mile 
farther, having passed the Ribble over a bridge, 
I arrived there ; it is a small market-town standing 
directly under a rocky fell ; there are not in it 
above a dozen good-looking houses, the rest are 
old and low, with little wooden porticos in front. 
My. inn, pleased me much, (though small) for the 



460 MEMOIRS OF 

neatness and civility of the good woman that kept 
it ; so I lay there two nights, and went, 

Oct. 13. To visit Gordale-scar, which lay six 
miles from Settle ; but that way was directly over 
a fell, and as the weather was not to be depended 
on, I went round in a chaise, the only way one 
could get near it in a carriage, which made it full 
thirteen miles, half of it such a road ! but I got 
safe over it, so there's an end, and came to Malham 
(pronounced Maum) a village in the bosom of the 
mountains, seated in a wild and dreary valley. 
From thence I was to walk a mile over very 
rough ground, a torrent rattling along on the left 
hand ; on the cliffs above hung a few goats ; one 
of them danced and scratched an ear with its hind 
foot in a place where I would not have stood stock- 
still 

For all beneath the moon. 

As I advanced, the crags seemed to close in, but 
discovered a narrow entrance turning to the left 
between them : I followed my guide a few paces, 
and the hills opened again into no large space ; and 
then all farther way is barred by a stream that, at 
the height of about fifty feet, gushes from a hole 
in the rock, and spreading in large sheets over its 
broken front,-dashes from steep to steep, and then 
rattles away in a torrent down the valley : the rock 
on the left rises perpendicular, with stubbed yew- 
trees and shrubs staring from its side, to the 
height of at least 300 feet ; but these are not the 
thing : it is the rock to the right, under which you 
stand to see the fall, that forms the principal horror 
of the place. From its very base it begins to slope 
forwards over you in one block or solid mass with- 
out any crevice in its surface, and overshadows 
half the area below with its dreadful canopy ; 
when I stood at (I believe) four yards distance from 
its foot, the drops, which perpetually distil from 
its brow, fell on my head ; and in one part of its 



MR. GRAY. 461 

top, more exposed to the weather, there are loose 
stones that hang in air, and threaten visibly some 
idle spectator with instant destruction ; it is safer 
to shelter yourself close to its bottom, and trust 
to the mercy of that enormous mass which nothing 
but an earthquake can stir. The gloomy un- 
comfortable day well suited the savage aspect of 
the place, and made it still more formidable: I 
stayed there, not without shuddering, a quarter 
of an hour, and thought my trouble richly paid ; 
for the impression will last for life. At the ale- 
house where I dined in Malham, Vivares, the land- 
scape-painter, had lodged for a week or more ; 
Smith and Bellers had also been there, and two 
prints of Gordale have been engraved by them. 

Oct. 14. Leaving my comfortable inn, to which 
I had returned from Gordale, I set out for Skip- 
ton, sixteen miles. From several parts of the 
road, and in many places about Settle, I saw at 
once the three famous hills of this country, Ingle- 
borough, Penigent, and Pendle ; the first is esteemed 
the highest, and their features not to be described 
but by the pencil *. 

* Without the pencil nothing indeed is to be 
described with precision ; and even then that pencil 
ought to be in the very hand of the writer, ready 
to supply with outlines every thing that his pen 
cannot express by words. As far as language can 
describe, Mr. Gray has, I think, pushed its powers : 
for rejecting, as I before hinted, every general un- 
meaning and hyperbolical phrase, he has selected 
(both in this journal, and on other similar occasions) 
the plainest, simplest, and most direct terms : yet 
notwithstanding his judicious care in the use of 
these, I must own I feel them defective. They 
present me, it is true, with a picture of the same 
species, but not with the identical picture: my 
imagination receives clear and distinct, but not 
true and exact images. It maybe asked, then, why 



462 MEMOIRS OF 

Craven, after all, is an unpleasing country when 
seen from a height ; its valleys are chiefly wide, 
and either marshy or inclosed pasture, with a few 
trees. Numbers of black cattle are fatted here, 
both of the Scotch breed, and a larger sort of oxen 



am I entertained by well-written descriptions? I 
answer, because they amuse when they do not in- 
form me ; and because, after 1 have seen the places 
described, they serve to recal to my memory the 
original scene, almost as well as the truest drawing 
or picture. In the meanwhile, my mind is flattered 
by thinking it has acquired some conception of the 
place, and rests contented in an innocent error, 
which nothing but ocular proof can detect, and 
which, when detected, does not diminish the 
pleasure I had before received, but augments it by 
super-adding the charms of comparison and veri- 
fication ; and herein I would place the real and 
only merit of verbal prose description. To speak 
of poetical, would lead me beyond the limits as 
well as the purpose of this note. I cannot, how- 
ever, help adding, that I have seen one piece of 
verbal description which completely satisfies me, 
because it is throughout assisted by masterly de- 
lineation. It is composed by the Rev. Mr. Gilpin, 
of Cheam in Surry; and contains, amongst other 
places, an account of the very scenes, which, in 
this tour, our author visited. This gentleman, 
possessing the conjoined talent of a writer and 
a designer, has employed them in this manuscript 
to every purpose of picturesque beauty, in the de- 
scription of which, a correct eye, a practised pencil, 
and an eloquent pen could assist him. He has, 
consequently, produced a work unique in its kind. 
But I have said it is in manuscript, and, I am afraid, 
likely to continue so ; for would his modesty permit 
him to print it, the great expense of plates would 
make its publication almost impracticable. 



MR. GRAY. 463 

with great horns. There is little cultivated ground, 
except a few oats. 

Skipton, to which I went through Long-Preston 
and Gargrave, is a pretty large market town, in a 
valley, with one very broad street gently sloping 
downwards from the castle, which stands at the 
head of it. This is one of our good countess's 
buildings *, but on old foundations ; it is not very- 
large, but of a handsome antique appearance, with 
round towers, a grand gateway, bridge, and moat, 
surrounded by many old trees. It is in good re- 
pair, and kept up as a habitation of the Earl 
of Thanet, though he rarely comes thither: what 
with the sleet, and a foolish dispute about chaises, 
that delayed me, I did not see the inside of it, 
but went on, fifteen miles, to Otley; first up 
Shode-bank, the steepest hill I ever saw a road 
carried over in England, for it mounts in a straight 
line (without any other repose for the horses than 
by placing stones every now and then behind the 
wheels) for a full mile; then the road^oes on a 
level along the brow of this high hill over Rum- 
bald-moor, till it gently descends into Wharldale, 
so they call the vale of the Wharf, and a beautiful 
vale it is, well-wooded, well-cultivated, well-in- 
habited, but with high crags at a distance, that 
border ftie green country on either hand ; through 
the midst of it, deep, clear, full to the brink, and 
of no inconsiderable breadth, runs in long windings 
the river. How it comes to pass that it should be 
so fine and copious a stream here, and at Tad- 
caster (so much lower) should have nothing but a 
wide stony channel without water, I cannot tell 
you. I passed through Long-Addingham, Ilkeley 
(pronounced Eecly), distinguished by a lofty brow 
of loose rocks to the right; Burley, a neat and 
pretty village, among trees ; on the opposite side 
of the river lay Middleton-Lodge, belonging to a 

* Anne Countess of Pembroke and Montgomery. 



464: MEMOIRS OF 

catholic gentleman of that name ; Weston, a ve- 
nerable stone fabric, with large offices, of Mr. Va- 
vasour, the meadows in front gently descending to 
the water, and behind a great and shady wood; 
Farnley (Mr. Fawkes's), a place like the last, but 
larger, and rising higher on the side of the hill. 
Otley is a large airy town, with clean but low 
rustic buildings, and a bridge over the Wharf: I 
went into its spacious Gothic church, which has 
been new-roofed, with a flat stucco ceiling ; in a 
corner of it is the monument of Thomas Lord 
Fairfax, and Helen Aske, his lady, descended from 
the Cliffords and Latimers, as her epitaph says; 
the figures, not ill-cut (particularly his in armour, 
but bare-headed), lie on the tomb. I take them to 
be the parents of the famous Sir Thomas Fairfax. 



LETTER V. 



MR. GRAY TO DR. WHARTON. 

April 18, 1770. 
I HAVE utterly forgot where my Journal left off, 
but I think it was after the account of Gordale, 
near Settle ; if so, there was little more worth your 
notice : the principal things were Wharldale, in the 
way from Skipton to Otley, and Kirkstall abbey, 
three miles from Leeds * * * * t. Kirkstall is a 
noble ruin, in the semi-saxon style of building, as 
old as King Stephen, towards the end of his reign, 
1J52. The whole church is still standing, the roof 



* Here a paragraph, describing Wharldale in the 
foregoing Journal, was repeated, 



MR. GRAY. 465 

excepted, seated in a delicious quiet valley, on the 
banks of the river Aire, and preserved with re- 
ligious reverence by the Duke of Montagu. Ad- 
joining to the church, between that and the river, 
are variety of chapels and remnants of the abbey, 
shattered by the encroachments of the ivy, and 
surrounded by many a sturdy tree, whose twisted 
roots break through the fret of the vaulting, and 
hang streaming from the roofs. The gloom of 
these ancient cells, the shade and verdure of the 
landscape, the glittering and murmur of the stream, 
the lofty towers and long perspectives of the 
church, in the midst of a clear bright day, detained 
me for many hours ; and were the truest objects for 
my glass I have yet met with any where. As I lay 
at that smoky, ugly, busy town of Leeds, I dropped 
all further thoughts of my Journal ; and after pass- 
ing two days at Mason's (though he was absent) 
pursued my way by Nottingham, Leicester, Har- 
borough, Kettering, Thrapston, and Huntingdon 
to Cambridge, where I arrived on the 22d of Octo- 
ber, having met with no rain to signify till this last 
day of my journey. There's luck for you ! 

I do think of seeing Wales this summer, having 
never found my spirits lower than at present, and 
feeling that motion and change of the scene is 
absolutely necessary to me ; I will make Aston in 
my way to Chester, and shall rejoice to meet you 
there the last week in May. Mason writes me 
word that he wishes it ; and though his old house 
is down, and his new one not up, proposes to re- 
ceive us like princes in grain. 



X2 



466 MEMOIRS OF 

LETTER VI. 

MR. GRAY TO MR. NICHOLLS ». 

I RECEIVED your letter at Southampton ; and as 
I would wish to treat every body according to their 
own rule and measure of good breeding, have, 
against my inclination, waited till now before I 
answered it, purely out of fear and respect, and an 
ingenuous diffidence of my own abilities. If you 
will not take this as an excuse, accept it at least as 
a well-turned period, which is always my principal 
concern. 

So I proceed to tell you that my health is much 
improved by the sea, not that I drank it, or bathed 
in it, as the common people do : no ! I only walked 
by it, and looked upon it. The climate is re- 
markably mild, even in October and November ; 
no snow has been seen to lie there for these thirty 
years past ; the myrtles grow in the ground against 
the houses, and Guernsey lilies bloom in every 
window : the town, clean and well-built, surrounded 
by its old stone walls, with their towers and gate- 
ways, stands at the point of a peninsula, and opens 
full south to an arm of the sea, which, having 
formed two beautiful bays on each hand of it, 
stretches away in direct view, till it joins the 
British Channel; it is skirted on either side with 
gently-rising grounds, clothed with thick wood, 
and directly cross its mouth rise the high lands of 



* Xhis letter was written on the 19th of No- 
vember, 1764; but as it delineates another abbey, 
in g, different manner, it seems to make no im- 
proper companion to that which precedes it. 



MR. GRAY. 467 

the Isle of Wight at distance, but distinctly seen. 
In the bosom of the woods (concealed from profane 
eyes) lie hid the ruins of Nettley abbey : there may 
be richer and greater houses of religion, but the 
abbot is content with his situation. See there, at 
the top of that hanging meadow, under the shade 
of those old trees that bend into a half circle about 
it, he is walking slowly (good man !) and bidding 
his beads for the souls of his benefactors, interred 
in that venerable pile that lies beneath him. Be- 
yond it (the meadow still descending) nods a thicket 
of oaks that mask the building, and have excluded 
a view too garish and luxuriant for a holy eye ; 
only on either hand they leave an opening to the 
blue glittering sea. Did you not observe how, as 
that white sail shot by and was lost, he turned and 
crossed himself to drive the tempter from him that 
had thrown that distraction in his way ? I should 
tell you that the ferryman who rowed me, a lusty 
young fellow, told me that he would not for all the 
world pass a night at the abbey (there were such 
things seen near it) though there was a power of 
money hid there. From thence I went to Salisbury, 
Wilton, and Stonehenge: but of these things I say 
no more ; they will be published at the university 
press. 

P. S. I must not close my letter without giving 
you one principal event of my history; which was, 
that (in the course of my late tour) I set out one 
morning before five o'clock, the moon shining 
through a dark and misty autumnal air, and got to 
the sea-coast time enough to be at the Sun's levee, 
I saw the clouds and dark vapours open gradually 
to right and left, rolling over one another in great 
i smoky wreathes, and the tide (as it flowed gently in 
upon the sands) first whitening, then slightly tinged 
with gold and blue ; and all at once a little line of 
insufferable brightness that (before I can write these 
five words) was grown to half an orb, and now to a 



463 MEMOIRS OF 

whole one, too glorious to be distinctly seen *. It 
is very odd it makes no figure on paper ; yet I shall 
remember it as long as the sun, or at least as long 
as I endure. I wonder whether any body ever saw 
it before ? I hardly believe it. 



LETTER VII. 



MR. GRAY TO MR. BEATTIE. 

Pembroke- Hall, July 2, 1770. 
I REJOICE to hear that you are restored to better 
state of health, to your books, and to your muse 
once again. That forced dissipation and exercise 
we are obliged to fly to as a remedy, when this 
frail machine goes wrong, is often almost as bad as 
the distemper we would cure ; yet I too have been 
constrained of late to pursue a like regimen, on 
account of certain pains in the head (a sensation 
unknown to me before), and of great dejection of 
spirits. This, sir, is the only excuse I have to 

* This puts me in mind of a similar description 
written by Dr. Jeremy Taylor, which I shall here 
beg leave to present to the reader, who will find by 
it that the old divine had occasionally as much 
power of description as even our modern poet. 
• As when the sun approaches towards the gates of 
the morning, he first opens a little eye of heaven, 
and sends away the spirits of darkness ; gives light 
to the cock, and calls up the lark to matins ; and 
by and by gilds the fringes of a cloud, and peeps 
over the eastern hills, thrusting out his golden 
horns * * *; and still (while a man tells the story) 
the sun gets up higher till he shows a fair face and 
a full light.' J. Taylor's Holy Dying, p. 17. 



MR. GRAY. 469 

make you for my long silence, and not (as perhaps 
you may have figured to yourself) any secret re- 
luctance I had to tell you my mind concerning the 
specimen you so kindly sent me of your new poem * : 
on the contrary, if I had seen any thing of im- 
portance to disapprove, I should have hastened to 
inform you, and never doubted of being forgiven. 
The truth is, I greatly like all I have seen, and 
wish to see more. The design is simple, and 
pregnant with poetical ideas of various kinds, yet 
seems somehow imperfect at the end. Why may 
not young Edwin, when necessity has driven him 
to take up the harp, and assume the profession of 
a minstrel, do some great and singular service to 
his country? (what service I must leave to your 
invention) such as no general, no statesman, no 
moralist could do without the aid of music, in- 
spiration, and poetry. This will not appear an 
improbability in those early times, and in a cha- 
racter then held sacred, and respected by all 
nations : besides, it will be a full answer to all the 
hermit has said, when he dissuaded him from cul- 
tivating these pleasing arts ; it will show their use, 
and make the best panegyric of our favourite and 
celestial science. And lastly (what weighs most 
with me), it will throw more of action, pathos, and 
interest into your design, which already abounds 
in reflection and sentiment. As to description, I 
have always thought that it made the most grace- 
ful ornament of poetry, but never ought to make 
the subject. Your ideas are new, and borrowed 
from a mountainous country, the only one that can 
furnish truly picturesque scenery. Some trifles in 



* This letter was written in answer to one that 
inclosed only a part of the first book of the Minstrel 
in manuscript, and I believe a sketch of Mr. 
Beattie's plan for the whole. 



470 MEMOIRS OF 

the language or versification you will permit me to 
remark *. 

I will not enter at present into the merits of your 
Essay on Truth, because I have not yet given it 
all the attention it deserves, though I have read it 
through with pleasure ; besides, 1 am partial ; for I 
have always thought David Hume a pernicious writer, 
and believe he has done as much mischief here as 
he has in his own country. A turbid and shallow 
stream often appears to our apprehensions very 
deep. A professed sceptic can be guided by nothing 
but his present passions (if he has any) and in- 
terests ; and to be masters of his philosophy we 
need not his books or advice, for every child is 
eapabie of the same thing, without any study at 
all. Is not that naivete and good humour, which 
his admirers celebrate in him, owing to this,, that 
he has continued all his days an infant, but one 
that unhappily has been taught to read and write ? 
That childish nation, the French, have given him 
vogue and fashion, and we, as usual, have learned 
from them to admire him at second hand f. 



* A few paragraphs of particular criticism are 
here omitted. 

f On a similar subject Mr. Gray expresses him- 
self thus in a letter to Mr. Walpole, dated March 
17, 1771 ' ' He must have a very good stomach that 
can digest the Crambcrecocta of Voltaire. Atheism 
is a vile dish, though all the cooks of France com- 
bine to make new sauces to it. As to the soul, 
perhaps they may have none on the continent; 
but I do think we have such things in England. 
Shakspeare, for example, I believe had severalto 
his own share. As to the Jews (though they do 
not eat pork), I like them because they are better 
Christians than Voltaire.' This was written only 
three months before his death ; and I insert it to 



MR. GRAY* 471 



LETTER VIII. 

MR. GRAY TO MR. HOW*. 

Cambridge, Sept. 10, 1763. 
I OUGHT long since to have made you my ac- 
knowledgments for the obliging testimonies of your 

show how constant and uniform he was in his con- 
tempt of infidel writers. Dr. Beattie received only 
one letter more from his correspondent, dated 
March 8, 1771. It related to the first book of the 
Minstrel, now sent to him in print, and contained 
criticisms on particular passages, and commenda- 
tions of particular stanzas. Those criticisms the 
author attended to in a future edition, because his 
good taste found that they deserved his attention ; 
the passages therefore being altered, the strictures 
die of course. As to the notes of commendation, 
the poem itself abounds with so many striking 
beauties, that they need not even the hand of Mr. 
Gray to point them out to a reader of any feeling : 
all therefore that I shall print of that letter is the 
concluding paragraph relating to his Essay on the 
Immutability of Truth. < I am happy to hear of 
your success in another way, because I think you 
are serving the cause of human nature, and the 
true interests of mankind ; your book is read here 
too, and with just applause.' 

* This letter and the following, if received 
earlier, would have found their place, according to 
their dates, in the fourth Section ; but I choose 
rather to print them here, out of place, than to re- 
serve them for another edition, that the purchasers 
of this may not have hereafter cause to complain 
that the book was incomplete. 



472 MEMOIRS OF 

esteem that you have conferred upon me; but 
Count Algarotti's books * did not come to my hands 
till the end of July, and since that time I have 
been prevented by illness from doing any of my 
duties. I have read them more than once, with 
increasing satisfaction; and should wish mankind 
had eyes to descry the genuine sources of their own 
pleasures, and judgment to know the extent that 
nature has prescribed to them : if this were the 
case, it would be their interest to appoint Count 
Algarotti their ' Arbiter Elegantiarum.' He is 
highly civil to our nation; but there is one point 
in which he does not do us justice : I am the more 
solicitous about it, because it relates to the only 
taste we can call our own ; the only proof of our 
original talent in matter of pleasure, I mean our 
skill in gardening, or rather laying out grounds; 
and this is no small honour to us, since neither 
Italy nor France have ever had the least notion of 
it, nor yet do at all comprehend it when they see 
it. That the Chinese have this beautiful art in 
high perfection seems very probable from the 
Jesuits' Letters, and more from Chambers's little 
discourse, published some years ago f ; but it is 
very certain we copied nothing from them, nor had 
any thing but nature for our model. It is not 
forty years since the art was born among us % ; and 

* Three small treatises on Painting, the Opera, 
and the French Academy for Painters in Italy ; 
they have been since collected in the Leghorn edition 
of his works. 

f The author has since enlarged and published 
it under the title of a Dissertation on Oriental 
Gardening; in which he has put it out of all 
doubt, that the Chinese and English tastes are 
totally dissimilar. 

X See Mr. Walpole's history of this art at the end 
of the last volume of his Anecdotes of Painters, 
when he favours the world with its publication. 



MR. GRAY. 473 

it is sure that there was nothing in Europe like it ; 
and as sure, we then had no information on this 
bead from China at all*. 

I shall rejoice to see you in England, and talk 
over these and many other matters with you at 
leisure. Do not despair of your health, because 
you have not found all the effects you had pro- 
mised yourself from a finer climate. I have known 
people who have experienced the same thing, and 
yet, at their return, have lost all their complaints 
as by miracle. 

P. S. I have answered Count Algarotti's letter, 
and his to Mr. Mason I conveyed to him ; but 
whether he has received his books, I have not yet 
heard. 



Mr. How, on receiving the foregoing letter, 
communicated the objection which it contained to 
the count ; who, admitting the justness of it, al- 
tered the passage, as appears from the following 
extract of the answer which he sent to that gentle- 
man. 

■ Mi spiace solamente che quella critica eon- 
cernente i Giardini Inglesi non la abbia fatta a me 
medesimo ; quasi egli dovesse credermi piu amico 



* I question whether this be not saying too 
much. Sir William Temple's account of the Chi-, 
nese gardens was published some years before this 
period; and it is probable that might have pro- 
moted our endeavours, not indeed of imitating 
them, but of imitating (what he said was their 
archetype) Nature, 



474 MEMOIRS OF 

della rnia opinione che della verita. Ecco, come 
ho cangiato qual luogo. Dopo le parole nel tesser 
la favola di un poema. * Simili ai Giardini della 
Cina sono quelli che piantano gP Inglesi dietro al 
medesimo modello della Natura.' Quanto ella ha 
di vago, e di vario, boschetti, collinette, acque vive, 
praterie con dei tempietti, degli obelischi, ed anche 
di belle rovine che spuntano qua e la, si trova 
quivi reunito dal gusto dei Kent, e dei Chambers *, 
che hanno di tanto sorpassato il le Nature, tenuto 
gia il maestro dell' Architettura, diro cosi, de Giar- 
dini. Dalle Ville d'Inghilterra £ sbandita la sim- 
metria Francese, i piu bei siti pajono naturali, il 
culto e misto col negletto, £ il di sordine che vi 
regna e l'effetto dell' arte la meglio ordinata.' 

It is seldom that an author of a reputation so 
established (as Mr. How truly remarked, when he 
sent this extract to Mr. Gray) so easily, readily, 
and explicitly gives up his own opinion to that of 
another, or even to conviction itself; nor perhaps 
would Count Algarotti have done so, had he not 
been thoroughly apprized to whose correction he 
submitted. 



LETTER IX. 

MR. GRAY TO MR. HOW. 

Pembroke-Hall, Jan. 12, 1768. 
I WAS willing to go through the eight volumes of 
Count Algarotti's works, which you lately pre- 



* As he had written on the subject, this mistake 
was natural enough in Count Algarotti. 



MR. GRAY. 475 

sented to the library of this College, before I re- 
turned you an answer ; this must be my excuse to 
you for my silence. First I condole with you, that 
so neat an edition should swarm in almost every 
page with errors of the press, not only in notes and 
citations from Greek, English, and French authors, 
but in the Italian text itself, greatly to the dis- 
reputation of the Leghorn publishers. This is the 
only reason, I think, that could make an edition 
in England necessary; but, I doubt, you would 
not find the matter much mended here ; our 
presses, as they improve in beauty, declining daily 
in accuracy ; besides, you would find the expense 
very considerable, and the sale in no proportion to 
it, as, in reality, it is but few people in England 
that read currently and with pleasure the Italian 
tongue, and the fine old editions of their capital 
writers are sold at London for a lower price than 
they bear in Italy. An English translation I can' 
by no means advise ; the justness of thought and 
good sense might remain, but the graces of elocution 
(which make a great part of Algarotti's merit) 
would be entirely lost, and that merely from the 
very different genius and complexion of the two 
languages. 

Doubtless there can be no impropriety in your 
making the same present to the University that you 
have done to your own College. You need not at 

i all to fear for the reputation of your friend ; he 
has merit enough to recommend him in any country. 

j A tincture of various sorts of knowledge, an ac- 
quaintance with all the beautiful arts, an easy 
command, a precision, warmth, and richness of 
expression, and a judgment that is rarely mistaken 
on any subject to which he applies it. I had read 
the Congresso de Citera before, and was excessively 
pleased with it, in spite of prejudice; for lam 
naturally no friend to allegory, nor to poetical 
prose. The Giudicio d? Amove is an addition rather 
inferior to it. What gives me the least pleasure qi 



476 MEMOIRS OF 

any of his writings is the Newtonianism ; it is so 
direct an imitation of Fontenelle, a writer not easy 
to imitate, and least of all in the Italian tongue, 
whose character and graces are of a higher style, 
and never adapt themselves easily to the elegant 
badinage and legerete of conversation that sit so 
well on the French. The essays and letters (many 
of them entirely new to me) on the Arts, are 
curious and entertaining : those on other subjects 
(even where the thoughts are not new, but bor- 
rowed from his various reading and conversation), 
often better put, and better expressed than in the 
originals. I rejoice when I see Machiavel defended 
or illustrated, who to me appears one of the wisest 
men that any nation in any age has produced. 
Most of the other discourses, military or political, 
are well worth reading, though that on Kouli Khan 
was a mere jeu d'esprit, a sort of historical exercise. 
The letters from Russia I had read before with 
pleasure, particularly the narrative of Munick's and 
Lascy's campaigns. The detached thoughts are 
often new and just; but there should have been a 
revisal of them, as they are frequently to be found 
in his letters repeated in the very same words. 
Some too of the familiar letters might have been 
spared. The verses are not equal to the prose, 
but they are above mediocrity. 



MR. GRAY. 477 

LETTER X*. 

MR. GRAY TO MR. NICHOLLS. 

IT is long since that I heard you were gone in 
haste into Yorkshire on account of your mother's 
illness, and the same letter informed me that she 
was recovered, otherwise I had then wrote to you 
only to beg you would take care of her, and to in- 
form you that I had discovered a thing very little 
known, which is, that in one's whole life one 
can never have any more than a single mother. 
You may think this is obvious, and (what you call) 
a trite observation. You are a green gosling ! I 
was at the same age (very near) as wise as you, and 
yet I never discovered this {with full evidence and 
conviction I mean) till it was too late. Is is thir- 
teen years ago, and seems but as yesterday, and 
every day I live it sinks deeper into my heart f. 
Many a corollary could I draw from this axiom for 
your use (not for my own), but I will leave you 
the merit of doing it for yourself. Pray tell me 
how your health is : I conclude it perfect, as I hear 



* This letter was written some years before, and 
would have been inserted after Letter LIII. of the 
fourth Section, if received in time. 

t He seldom mentioned his mother without a 
sigh. After his death her gowns and wearing ap- 
parel were found in a trunk in his apartments just 
as she had left them; it seemed as if he could 
never take the resolution to open it, in order to 
distribute them to his female relations, to whom, 
by his wil^ he bequeathed them. 



478 MEMOIRS OF 

you offered yourself as a guide to Mr. Palgrave | 
into the Sierra-Morena of Yorkshire. For me, I I 
passed the end of May and all June in Kent, not f| 
disagreeably. In the west part of it, from every 
eminence, the eye catches some long reach of the j i 
Thames or Med way, with all their shipping: in | 
the east the sea breaks in upon you, and mixes its 
white transient sails and glittering blue expanse 
with the deeper and brighter greens of the woods 
andr corn. This sentence is so fine I am quite 
ashamed ; but no matter ! You must translate it 
into prose. Palgrave, if he heard it, would cover 
his face with his pudding sleeve. I do not tell you 
of the great and small beasts, and creeping things 
innumerable, that I met with, because you do not 
suspect that this world is inhabited by any thing 
but men, and women, and clergy, and such two- 
legged cattle. Now I am here again very dis- 
consolate, and all alone, for Mr. Brown is gone, 
and the cares of this world are coming thick upon 
me : you, I hope, are better off, riding and walk- 
ing in the woods of Studley, &c. &c. I must not 
wish for you here ; besides I am going to town at 
Michaelmas, by no means for amusement. 



LETTER XI. 

MR. GRAY TO MR. NICHOLLS. 

Pembroke-Hall, Jan. 26, 1771. 
I REJOICE you have met with Froissart; he is 
the Herodotus of a barbarous age : had he but had 
the luck of writing in as good a language, he might 
have been immortal ! His locomotive disposition 



MR. GRAY. 479 

(for then there was no other way of learning things), 
his simple curiosity, his religious credulity, were 
much like those of the old Grecian *. When you 
have tant chevauche, as to get to the end of him, 
there is Monstrelet waits to take you up, and will 
set you down at Philip de Comines ; but previous 
to all these, you should have read Villehardouin 
. and Joinville. I do not think myself bound to de- 
: fend the character of even the best of kings t: 
pray slash them all, and spare not. 

It would be strange too if I should blame your 
Greek studies, or find fault with you for readings 
Isocrates ; I did so myself twenty years ago, and in 
i an edition at least as bad as yours. The Panegyric, 
j the de Pace, Areopagitic, and Advice to Philip, 
are by far the noblest remains we have of this 
writer, and equal to most things extant in the 
Greek tongue ; but it depends on your judgment 
to distinguish between his real and occasional 
opinion of things, as he directly contradicts in one 
place what he has advanced in another : for ex- 
ample, in the Panathenaic, and the de Pace, &c. 
i on the naval power of Athens; the latter of the 
two is undoubtedly his own undisguised sentiment. 
I would by all means wish you to comply with 
your friend's request, and write the letter he de- 
sires. I trust to the cause and to the v/armth of 
your own kindness for inspiration. Write elo- 
quently, that is, from your heart, in such expressions 
as that will furnish j. Men sometimes catch that 



I* See more of his opinion of this author, Section 
IV. Letter XXXVI. 
t I suppose his correspondent had made some 
strictures on the character of Henry IV. of France. 
See Section IV. Letter XXII. 

$ This short sentence contains a complete de- 
finition of natural eloquence; when it becomes an 



480 MEMOIRS OF 

feeling from a stranger which should have originally 
sprung from their own heart. 



LETTER XII. 

MR. GRAY TO DR. WHARTON. 

May 24, 1771. 
MY last summer's tour was through Worcester- 
shire, Gloucestershire, Monmouthshire, Hereford- 
shire, and Shropshire, five of the most beautiful 
counties in the kingdom. The very principal light 
and capital feature of my journey was the river 
Wye, which I descended in a boat for near forty 
miles from Ross to Chepstow. Its banks are a sue- 
cession of nameless beauties; one out of many you 
may see not ill described by Mr. Whately, in his 
Observations on Gardening, under the name of the 
New- Weir : he has also touched upon two others, 
Tinterne Abbey and Pcrsfield, both of them famous 
scenes, and both on the Wye. Monmouth, a town 
I never heard mentioned, lies on the same river, in \ 



art it requires one more prolix, and our author 
seems to have begun to sketch it on a detached 
paper. * Its province (says he) is to reign over 
minds of slow perception and little imagination, to 
set things in lights they never saw them in ; to en- 
gage their attention by details and circumstances j 
gradually unfolded, to adorn and heighten them 
with images and colours unknown to them, and to 
raise and engage their rude passions to the point to 
which the speaker wishes to bring them.' * * * 



MR. GRAY. 481 

a vale that is the delight of my eyes, and the very 
seat of pleasure. The vale of Abergavenny, Rag- 
land, and Chepstow castles ; Ludlow, Malvern-hills, 
Hampton-court, near Lemster ; the Leasows, Hag- 
ley, the three cities and their cathedrals ; and lastly 
Oxford (where I passed two days on my return 
with great satisfaction) were the rest of my ac- 
quisitions, and no bad harvest in my opinion ; but 
I made no journal myself, else you should have 
had it : I have indeed a short one written by the 
companion of my travels*, that serves to recall 
and fix the fleeting images of these things. 

I have had a cough upon me these three months, 
which is incurable. The approaching summer I 
have sometimes had thoughts of spending on the 
continent; but I have now dropped that intention, 
and believe my expeditions will terminate in Old 
Park: but I make no promise, and can answer 
for nothing ; my own employment so sticks in my 
stomach, and troubles my conscience : and yet 
travel I must, or cease to exist. Till this year I 
hardly knew what (mechanical) low spirits were, 
but now I even tremble at an east wind. 



This is the last letter which I have selected for 
this Section ; and I insert it chiefly for the occasion 
which it affords me of commenting on the latter 
part of it, where he speaks of his own employment 
as Professor of Modern History ; an office which 
he had now held nearly three years, and had not 
begun to execute the duties of it. His health, 

* Mr. Nicholls. 



482 MEMOIRS OF 

which was all the time gradually on the decline, and 
his spirits only supported by the frequent summer 
excursions, during this period, might, to the candid 
reader, be a sufficient apology for this omission, or 
rather procrastination: but there is more to be 
said in his excuse ; and I should ill execute the 
office I have undertaken of arranging these papers, 
with a -view of doing honour to his memory, if 
I did not endeavour to remove every exception 
that might, with a show of reason, be taken to 
his conduct in this instance. 

His business, as Professor, consisted of two parts ; 
one, the teaching of modern languages ; the other, 
the reading of lectures on Modern History. The 
patent, which created the office, authorized him to 
execute the former of these by deputies ; the latter, 
the same patent prescribed to him, to commence 
by reading a public lecture in the schools, and to 
continue to do so once at least in every term. As 
this patent did not ascertain the language in which 
the lecture was to be read, he was at liberty to do 
it either in Latin or English ; he chose the former, 
and I think rather injudiciously; because, though 
no man, in the earlier part of his life, was more 
ready in Latin composition, he had now lost the 
habit, and might therefore well have excused him- 
self, by the nature of his subject, from any su- 
peradded difficulty of language. However, imme- 
diately on his appointment, he sketched out an 
admirable plan for his inauguration speech ; in 
which, after enumerating the preparatory and 
auxiliary studies requisite, such as Ancient History, 
Geography, Chronology, &c. * he descended to the 



* Amongst these auxiliaries, he has set down 
Mernoria Technica; an art in which he had much 
exercised himself when young. I find many me- 
morial verses among his scattered papers: and I 



MR. GRAY. 483 

authentic sources of the science, such as Public 
Treaties — State Records — Private Correspondence 
of Ambassadors, &c. He also wrote the Exordium 
of this Thesis; not indeed in a manner correct 
enough to be here given by way of fragment : but 
so spirited, in point of sentiment, as leaves it much 
to be lamented, that he did not proceed to its com- 
pletion. At the same time he drew up, and laid 
before the Duke of Grafton, just then chosen 
Chancellor of the University, three different 
schemes for regulating the method of choosing 
pupils privately to be instructed by him : one of 
these was so much approved as to be sent to Ox- 
ford, in order to be* deliberated upon by the Vice- 
chancellor and heads of Colleges for a similar pur- 
pose: and the same plan, or something like it, I 
believe, regulates the private lectures which Mr. 
Gray's successor now reads at Cambridge ; but the 
public ones are only given at Oxford : and yet I 
conceive, that on these (had Mr. Gray been ap- 
pointed earlier in life to the office) he would have 
chosen chiefly to exert his uncommon abilities. 
Indeed, if we consider the nature of the study 
itself, Modern History, so far as it is a detail of 
facts (and so far only, a boy just come from school 
can be supposed to be taught it), may be as com- 

suspect he found good account in the practice ; for 
few men were more ready and accurate in their 
dates of events than our author. 

* This sentence is altered from the former edi- 
tions, on intelligence since received from Dr. Noel, 
the present Professor of Modern History at Oxford. 
The editor had there said, that ' he believed the 
public lectures were still omitted in both Univer- 
sities.' Whereas the truth is, that the Oxford Pro- 
fessor reads an annual course of fifty private lectures 
and one solemn one in the public schools every 
term. 



484 MEMOIRS OF 

pletely learned from private reading as from thfc 
mouth of any lecturer whatever. What can his 
lecture consist of, if it aims to teach what it ought, 
but a chain of well-authenticated events, judi- 
ciously selected from the numerous writers on the 
subject ? What can it then be more than an abridg- 
ment added to the innumerable ones with which 
our libraries are already crowded ? I know of no 
difficult propositions which this study contains, to 
the proof of which the pupil must be led step after 
step by the slow hand of demonstration; or that 
require to be elucidated by the conviction of a me- 
chanical experiment. On this subject carefully to 
read, is completely to understand; it is the exer- 
cise of memory, not of reason. But a public lec- 
turer, reading to an audience well instructed in 
these facts, has a wider and nobler field. It is his 
province to trace every important event to its poli- 
tical spring ; to develope the cause, and thence de- 
duce the consequence. In the course of such dis- 
quisitions, the rational faculties of his auditors are 
employed in weighing the force of his arguments, 
and their judgments finally convinced by the de- 
cisive strength of them. What Would be an idle 
display of either logic or rhetoric, where youths 
are only to be initiated into the knowledge of facts, 
becomes before this circle of mature hearers, a ne- 
cessary exertion of erudition and genius. From 
such lectures, afterwards collected into a volume, 
not only the University but the nation itself, nay 
all other nations might reap their advantage ; and 
receive from this, the benefit they have received 
from other similar institutions : for though Mr. 
Gray, in one of the plans lately mentioned, ob- 
serves, that ' Lectures read in public are generally 
things of more ostentation than use; yet' (he adds) 
1 if indeed they should gradually swell into a book, 
and the author should find reason to hope they 
might deserve the attention of the public, it is pos- 
sible they might become of general service; of this 



MR. GRAY. 485 

we have already some instances, as Judge Black- 
stone's Lectures on the Common Law, and the 
Bishop of Oxford's on Hebrew Poetry.' 

But these reflections lead me beyond my pur- 
pose, which was only to remove from my deceased 
friend any imputation which, on this account, 
might rest on his memory. Certain it is, that not- 
withstanding his ill health, he constantly intended 
to read lectures; and I remember the last time he 
visited me at Aston, in the summer of the year 
1770, he expressed much chagrin on this subject, 
and even declared it to be his stedfast resolution to 
resign his professorship, if he found himself unable 
to do real service in it. What I said to dissuade 
him from this, though I urged, as may be sup- 
posed, every argument I could think of, had, I 
found, so little weight with him, that I am almost 
persuaded he would very soon have put this in- 
tention into execution. But death prevented the 
trial ; the particulars of which it is now my melan- 
choly office to relate. 

The gout, which he always believed hereditary 
in his constitution (for both his parents died of 
that distemper), had for several years attacked him 
in a weakly and unfixed manner ; and the great 
temperance which he observed, particularly in re- 
gard to his drinking, served, perhaps, to prevent 
any severe paroxism, but by no means eradicated 
the constitutional malady. In the latter end of 
May, 1771, just about the time he wrote the last 
letter, he removed to London, where he became 
feverish, and his dejection of spirits increased : the 
weather being then very sultry, our common 
friend, Dr. Gisborne f , advised him, for an opener 
and freer air, to remove from his lodgings in Jer- 
myn-street to Kensington, where he frequently at- 
tended him, and where Mr. Gray so far got the 



* Physician to his Majesty's household. 



486 MEMOIRS OF 

better of his disorder, as to be able to return to 
Cambridge; meaning from thence to set out very 
soon for Old Park, in hopes that travelling, from 
which he usually received so much benefit, would 
complete his cure : but on the 21th of July, while 
at dinner in the College Hall, he felt a sudden 
nausea, which obliged him to rise from table and 
retire to his chamber. This continued to increase, 
and nothing staying on his stomach, he sent for his 
friend Dr. Glynn, who finding it to be the gout in 
that part, thought his case dangerous, and called in 
Dr. Plumptree, the Physical Professor : they pre- 
scribed to him the usual cordials given in that dis- 
temper, but without any good effect; for on the 
29th he was seized with a strong convulsion fit, 
which, on the 3()th, returned with increased vio- 
lence, and on the next evening he expired. He 
was sensible at times almost to the last, and from 
the first aware of his extreme danger; but ex- 
pressed no visible concern at the thoughts of his 
approaching dissolution. 

This account I draw up from the letters which 
Dr. Brown, then on the spot, wrote to me during 
his short illness ; and as 1 felt strongly at the time 
what Tacitus has so well expressed on a similar 
occasion, I may, with propriety, use his words: 
' Mihi, prseter acerbitatem amici erepti, auget 
mcestitiam, quod adsidere valetudini, fovere de- 
ficientem, satiari vultu, complexu, non contigitV 
I was then on the eastern side of Yorkshire, at a 
distance from the direct post, and therefore did not 
receive the melancholy intelligence soon enough to 
be able to reach Cambridge before his corpse had 
been carried to the place he had, by will, appointed 
for its interment. To see the last rites duly per- 
formed, therefore, fell to the lot of Dr. Brown ; 
I had only to join him, on his return from the 

* Vita Agricola?, cap. xlv. 



MR. GRAY. 437 

funeral, in executing the other trusts which 
his friendship had authorised us jointly to per- 
form. 

The method in which I have arranged the fore- 
going pages has, I trust, one degree of merit, that 
it makes the reader so well acquainted with the 
man himself, as to render it totally unnecessary to 
conclude the whole' with his character. If I am 
mistaken in this point, I have been a compiler to 
little purpose ; and I chose to be this rather than a 
biographer, that I might do the more justice to the 
virtues and genius of my friend. I might have 
written his life in the common form, perhaps with 
more reputation to myself; but, surely, not with 
equal information to the reader ; for whose sake I 
have never related a single circumstance of Mr. 
Gray's life in my own words, when I could employ 
his for the purpose. Fortunately I had more ma- 
terials for this use than commonly fall to the lot 
of an editor ; and I certainly have not been sparing 
in the use of them : whether 1 have been too lavish, 
must be left to the decision of the public. 

With respect to the Latin Poems, which I have 
printed in the three first Sections of these Me- 
moirs, I must beg leave to add one word here, 
though a little out of place. A learned and inge- 
nious person, to whom I communicated them, 
after they were printed off, was of opinion, that 
they contain some few expressions not warranted 
by any good authority ; and that there are one or 
two false quantities to be found in them. I once 
had an intention to cancel the pages, and correct 
the passages objected to, according to my friend's 
criticisms ; but, on second thoughts, I deemed it 
best to let them stand exactly as I found them in 
the manuscripts. The accurate classical reader 
will perhaps be best pleased with finding out the 
faulty passages himself ; and his candour will easily 
make the proper allowances for any little mistakes 



488 MEMOIRS OF . 

in verses, which he will consider never had the 
author's last hand. 

I might here lay down my pen, yet if any reader 
should still want his character, I will give him one 
which was published very soon after Mr. Gray's de- 
cease *. It appears to be well written ; and, as it 
comes from an anonymous pen, I choose the rather 
to insert it, as it will, on that account, be less sus- 
pected of partiality. 

' Perhaps he was the most learned man in Europe. 
He was equally acquainted with the elegant and 
profound parts of science, and that not super- 
ficially but thoroughly. He knew every branch of 
history, both natural t and civil ; had read all the 



* It appeared in the London Magazine a month 
or two after his decease, and was prefaced with an 
eulogy on his poetical merit, which I did not think 
necessary to reprint in a work where that merit so 
very fully speaks for itself. 

t I have given, in the beginning of this Section, 
an account of the great pains which Mr. Gray be- 
stowed on natural history. I have since been fa- 
voured with a letter from a gentleman, well skilled 
in that science, who, after carefully perusing his 
interleaved Systema Natures of Linnaeus, gives me 
this character of it : ' In the class of animals (the 
Mammalia) he has concentrated (if I may use the 
expression) what the old writers and the diffuse 
Buffon have said upon the subject ; he has uni- 
versally adapted the concise language of Linneeus, 
and has given it an elegance which the Swede had 
no idea of; but there is little of his own in this 
class, and it served him only as a common-place; 
but it is such a common-place that few men but 
Mr. Gray could form. In the birds and fishes he 
has most accurately described all that he had an 
opportunity of examining: but the volume of in- 



MR. GRAY. 489 

original historians of England, France, and Italy ; 
and was a great antiquarian. Criticism, meta- 
physics, morals, politics, made a principal part of 
his plan of study ; voyages and travels of all sorts 
were his favourite amusement; and he had a fine 
taste in painting, prints, architecture, and gar- 
dening *. With such a fund of knowledge^ his 
conversation must have been equally instructing 
and entertaining; but he was also a good man, a 
well-bred man, a man of virtue and humanity. 
There is no character without some speck, some 
imperfection; and I think the greatest defect in 
his was an affectation in delicacy, or rather ef- 
feminacy t, and a visible fastidiousness, or con- 
tempt and disdain of his inferiors in science. He 
also had in some degree that weakness which dis- 
gusted Voltaire so much in Mr. Congreve^:: though 



sects is the most perfect; on the English insects 
there is certainly nothing so perfect. In regard to 
the plants, there is little else than the English 
names and their native soils extracted from the 
Species Plantarum of Linnaeus. I suppose no man 
was so complete a master of his system ; he has se- 
lected the distinguishing marks of each animal, 
&c. with the greatest judgment, and, what no man 
else probably could have done, he has made the 
German Latin of Linnseus purely classical.' 

* He has disclaimed any skill in this art in the 
xxxvith letter of the fourth Section, and usually 
held it in less estimation than I think it deserves, 
declaring himself to be only charmed with the 
bolder features of unadorned nature. 

t This is rightly put ; it was rather an affectation 
in delicacy and effeminacy than the things them- 
selves; and he chose to put on this appearance 
chiefly before persons whom he did not wish to 
please. 

J I have often thought that Mr. Congreve might 

Y2 



490 MEMOIRS OF 

he seemed to value others, chiefly according to the 
progress they had made in knowledge* ; yet he 
could not bear to be considered himself merely as 
a man of letters; and though without birth, or 
fortune, or station, his desire was to be looked 
upon as a private independent gentleman, who 
read for his amusement. Perhaps it may be said, 
What signifies so much knowledge, when it pro- 
duced so little ? Is it worth taking so much pains 
to leave no memorial, but a few poems ? But let it 
be considered, that Mr. Gray was to others, at 
least innocently employed; to himself, certainly 
beneficially. His time passed agreeably; he was 
every day making some new acquisition in science ; 



very well be vindicated on this head. It seldom 
happens that the vanity of authorship continues to 
the end of man's days, it usually soon leaves him 
where it found him ; and if he has not something 
better to build his self-approbation upon than that of 
being a popular writer, he generally finds himself 
ill at ease, if respected only on that account. Mr. 
Congreve was much advanced in years when the 
young French poet paid him this visit; and, though 
a man of the world, he might now feel that indif- 
ference to literary fame which Mr. Gray, who al- 
ways led a more retired and philosophic life, cer- 
tainly felt much earlier. Both of them therefore 
might reasonably, at times, express some disgust, if 
their quiet was intruded upon by persons who 
thought they flattered them by such intrusion. 

* It was not on account of their knowledge that 
he valued mankind. He contemned indeed all 
pretenders to literature, but he did not select his 
friends from the literary class, merely because they 
were literate. To be his friend it was always 
either necessary that a man should have something 
better than an improved understanding, or at least 
that Mr. Gray should believe he had. 



MR. GRAY. 491 

his mind was enlarged, his heart softened, his virtue 
strengthened ; the world and mankind were shown 
to him without a mask ; and he was taught to con- 
sider every thing as trifling, and unworthy of the 
attention of a wise man, except the pursuit of 
knowledge, and the practice of virtue, in that state 
wherein God hath placed us.' 



END OP THE FIFTH SECTION. 



IMITATIONS, VARIATIONS, 

AND 

ADDITIONAL NOTES. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



IN the foregoing edition the text of all those 
pieces, which the author published in his lifetime., 
is given exactly as he left it in the London and 
Glasgow editions; and the few added pieces are 
printed verbatim from his corrected manuscripts. 
I have also inserted all his explanatory notes at 
the bottom of their respective pages; but those 
which only pointed out imitative expressions have 
been reserved for these concluding pages, because 
many of them appeared to me not very material, 
and therefore would have crowded the text as un- 
necessarily as my own annotations. 



NOTES, &c. 



ODE I. 

The original manuscript title which Mr, Gray gave 
to this ode was Noontide; probably he then 
meant to write two more, descriptive of Morning 
and Evening, His unfinished ode (vide infra, 
p. 499), opens with a fine description of the former : 
and his Elegy with as beautiful a picture of the 
latter, which perhaps he might, at that time, 
have meditated upon for the exordium of an ode - r 
but this is only conjecture. It may, however, be 
remarked, that ihese three capital descriptions 
abound with ideas which affect the ear more than 
the eye, and therefore go beyond the powers of 
picturesque imitation. 

1. O'er-canopies the glade. — Stanza 2. 1. 4. 

IMITATION. 

a bank 



O'er-canopied with luscious woodbine. G-. 

Shaks. Mids. Night's Dream, 

. 2-. How low, how little are the Proud ; 

How indigent the Great. — Stanza 2. 1. Q and 10 

VARIATION. 

How low, how indigent the Froud ; 
How little are the Great. 



496 NOTES. 

Thus it stood in Dodsley's Miscellany, where it 
was first published. The author corrected it on 
account of the point of little and great. It cer- 
tainly had too much the appearance of a con- 
cetto, though it expressed his meaning better 
than the present reading. 

3. And float amid the liquid noon. — Stanza 3. 1. 7. 

IMITATION. 

Nare per sestatem liquidam. 

Virgil. Georg. lib. iv. G. 

4. Quick-glancing to the sun. — Stanza 3. 1. 10. 

IMITATION. 

— sporting with quick glance, 

Show to the sun their waved coats dropt with gold . 
Milton's Par. Lost, book vii. G. 

5. To Contemplation's sober eye. — Stanza 4. 1. 1 . 

IMITATION. 

While insects from the threshold preach, &c. 

M. Green in the Grotto. 
Dodsley's Misc. vol. v. p. l6l. G. 



ODE II. 

1. This little piece, in which comic humour is so 
happily blended with lyrical fancy, was written, 
in point of time, some years later than the first, 
third, and fourth odes; [See Memoirs, Sect. 4. 
Let. 6*.] but as the author had printed it here in 
his own edition, I have not changed it. Mr. Wal- 
pole, since the death of Mr. Gray, has placed the 
china vase in question on a pedestal at Straw- 



NOTES. 497 

berry-Hill, with the first four lines of the ode for 
its inscription. 

' 'Twas on this .vase's lofty side,' &c. 

2. Two angel forms were seen to glide. 

Stanza 3. 1. 2. 

VARIATION. 

Two beauteous forms. 

First edition in Dodsley's Misc. 



ODE III. 

1. This was the first English production of Mr. 
Gray which appeared in print. It was published 
in folio, by Dodsley, in 1747; about the same 
time, at Mr. Walpole's request, Mr. Gray sat for 
his picture to Echart, in which, on a paper which 
he held in his hand, Mr. Walpole wrote the title 
of this ode, and to intimate his own high and 
just opinion of it, as a first production, added 
this line of Lucan, by way of motto : 

Neclicuit populis parvum te, Nile, videre. 

Phars. lib. x. 1. ?96. 

2. And redolent of joy and youth. — Stanza 2. 1. 9. 

IMITATION. 

And bees their honey redolent of spring. 

Dryden's Fable on the Pythag. System. G. 

{ 3. And hard unkindness' alter'deye. — Stanza 8,1. 6. 

The elision here is ungraceful, and hurts this other- 
wise beautiful line : one of the same kind in the 
second line of the first ode makes the same 
blemish ; but I think they are the only two to be 



498 NOTES. 

found in this correct writer ; and I mention them I 
here, that succeeding poets may not look upon 
them as authorities. The judicious reader will ! 
not suppose that I would condemn all elisions of 
the genitive case, by this stricture on those which 
are terminated by rough consonants. Many there 
are which the ear readily admits, and which use 
has made familiar to it. 

4. And moody Madness laughing wild. 

Stanza 8. 1. 9. 

IMITATION. 

Madness laughing in her ireful mood. 

Dry den's Palamon and Arcite. G. 



ODE IV. 

3. This ode was first published, with the three 
foregoing, in Dodsley's Miscellany, under the 
title of an Hymn to Adversity, which title is 
here dropped for the sake of uniformity in the 
page. It is unquestionably as truly lyrical as 
any of his other odes. 

C. Exact my own defects to scan. — Stanza C 1. 7. 

The many hard consonants which occur in this 
line hurt the ear; Mr. Gray perceived it himself, 
but did not alter it, as the words themselves were 
those which best conveyed his idea, and therefore 
he did not choose to sacrifice sense to sound. 



NOTES. 499 



Had Mr. Gray completed the fine lyrical fragment 
which I have inserted in the fourth Section of 
the Memoirs, I should have introduced it into 
the text of his Poems, as the fifth and last of his 
monostrophic odes. In order to fulfil the pro- 
mise which I there made to my reader, I shall 
now reprint the piece with my own additions to 
it. I have already made my apology for the 
attempt ; and therefore shall only add, that al- 
though (as is usually done on such occasions) 1 
print my supplemental lines in the italic cha- 
racter, yet I am well aware that their inferiority 
would but too easily distinguish them without 
any typographical assistance. 



ODE 



THE PLEASURE ARISING FROM VICIS- 
SITUDE. 

Now the golden Morn aloft 
Waves her dew-bespangled wing, 
With vermil cheek, and whisper soft 
She wooes the tardy Spring : 
Till April starts, and calls around 
The sleeping fragrance from the ground ; 
And lightly o'er the living scene 
Scatters his freshest, tenderest green. 

New-born flocks, in rustic dance, 
Frisking ply their feeble feet ; 
Forgetful of their wintry trance, 
The birds his presence greet : 



500 NOTES. 

But chief, the sky-lark warbles high 
His trembling thrilling ecstacy ; 
And, lessening from the dazzled sight, 
Melts into air and liquid light. 

Rise, my soul ! on wings of fire, 
Rise the rapt'rous choir among ; 
Hark ! 'tis Nature strikes the lyre, 
And leads the general song : 
Warm let the lyric transport flow, 
Warm, as the ray that bids it glow; 
And animates the vernal grove 
With health, with harmony, and love. 

Yesterday the sullen year 
Saw the snowy whirlwind fly ; 
Mute was the music of the air, 
The herd stood drooping by : 
Their raptures now that wildly flow, 
No yesterday, nor morrow know ; 
'Tis man alone that joy descries 
With forward, and reverted eyes. 

Smiles on past Misfortune's brow 
Soft Reflection's hand can trace; 
And o'er the cheek of Sorrow throw 
A melancholy grace : 
While Hope prolongs our happier hour, 
Or deepest shades, that dimly lower 
And blacken round our weary way, 
Gilds with a gleam of distant day. 

Still, where rosy Pleasure leads, 
See a kindred Grief pursue ; 
Behind the steps that Misery treads 
Approaching Comfort view : 
The hues of bliss more brightly glow, 
Chastised by sabler tints of woe ; 
And blended form, with artful strife, 
The strength and harmony of life. 






NOTES. 501 

See the wretch, that long has tost 
On the thorny bed of pain, 
At length repair his vigour lost, 
And breathe, and walk again : 
The meanest floweret of the vale, 
The simplest note that swells the gale, 
The common sun, the air, the skies, 
To him are opening Paradise. 

Humble Quiet builds her cell, 

Near the source whence Pleasure flows ; 

She eyes the clear * crystalline well, 

And tastes it as it goes. 

While far below the madding crowd 

Rush headlong to the dangerous flood, 

Where broad and turbulent it sweeps, 

And perish in the boundless deeps. 

Mark where Indolence, and Pride, 
Sooth'd by Flattery's tinkling sound, 
Go, softly rolling, side by side, 
Their dull, but daily round: 
To these, if Hebe's self should bring 
The purest cup from Pleasure's springs 
Say, can they taste the flavour high 
Of sober, simple, genuine Joy ? 

Mark Ambition's march sublime 
Up to Power's meridian height; 
While pale-eyed Envy sees him climb, 
And sickens at the sight. 
Phantoms of Danger , Death, and Dread* 
Float hourly round Ambition' s head ; 
While Spleen, within his rival's breast, 
Sits brooding on her scorpion nest. 



* So Milton accents the word : 
On the crystalline sky, in sapphire throned. 

P. L. Book vi. v. 7T2» 



502 NOTES. 

Happier he, the Peasant, far, 

From the pangs of Passion free, 

That breathes the keen yet wholesome air 

Of rugged Penury. 

He, when his morning task is done, 

Can slumber in the noontide sun ; 

And hie him home, at evening's close, 

To sweet repast, and calm repose. 

He, unconscious whence the bliss, 

Feels, and owns in carols rude, 

That all the circling joys are his, 

Of dear Vicissitude. 

From toil he wins his spirits light, 

From busy day, the peaceful night ; 

Rich, from the very want of wealth, 

In Heaven's best treasures, Peace and Health. 

I have heard Mr. Gray say, that M. Cresset's 
1 Epitre a ma Soeur' (see his works in the Amster- 
dam edition, 1748, p. 180) gave him the first idea 
of this ode; and whoever compares it with the 
French poem, will find some slight traits of re- 
semblance; but chiefly in our author's seventh 
stanza. 



We come now to Mr. Gray's Pindaric odes. And I 
think myself happy, through the favour of Mr. 
How (whose acquaintance with Count Algarotti 
is mentioned in the Memoirs, note on Let. 44. 
Sect. 4.), to be permitted to preface my an- 
notations on them with a letter which that 
celebrated foreigner wrote to him on their sub- 
ject. It does honour at once to the writer, the 
poet, and their common friend. 



NOTES. 503 



AL SIGNOR GUGLIELMO TAYLOR HOW. 

Pisa, Dicem. 26, J 762. 
Dei moltissimi obblighi, die io ho alia tanta sua 
gentilezza, non e certo il minore quello dello avermi 
ella novellamente introdotto in uno de pih riposti 
laureti del Parnaso Ingiese, avendomi fatto parte 
di alcune liriche poesie del Signor Gray. Io non 
saprei quale oda non diro del celebre Rousseau, 
ma del Guidi, del Lazzarini, ed anche del Chia- 
brera, che serissero in una lingua piti poetica che 
la Francese non e, paragonar si potesse all' Oda 
sopra 1' Armonia, o a quella contro ad Odoardo 
Primo del loro novello Pindaro, ed Alceo. 

La poesia dei popoli settentrionali pare a me, ' 
che, generalmente parlando, consista pi a di pen- 
sieri, ehe d' immagini, si eompiaccia delle rifies- 
sioni equalmente che dei sentimenti, non sia cosi 
particolareggiata, e pittoresca come £ la nostra. 
5 Vir^ilio a cagione d' esempio rappresentando Didone 
quando esce alia caecia fa una tal descrizione del 
suo vestimento, che tutti i ritrattisti, leggendo quel 
passo, la vestirebbono a un modo : 

Tandem progreditur , magnet stipante catervu, 
Sidoniam picto chlamydem circumdata limbo: 
Cuipharctra tx auro, crines nodantur in aurum, 
Aurea purpuream subnectit fibula vestem. 

Non cosi il Miltono quando descrive la nnda bel- 
lezza di Eva; 

Grace was in all her steps, heaven in her eye> 
In every gesture, dignity and love. 

Con quella parole generali, e astratte idee di 
grazia, cielo, amore, e maesta non pare a lei che 
ognuno si formi in mente una Eva a posta sua ? 
Talche dietro a quei versi Rubens Pavrebbe di- 



504 NOTES. 

pinta come una grossa Balia Fiamminga, Raffaello 
come la Venere da Medici, quale appunto, il Mil- 
tono 1' avrebbe dovuta descrivere. 

Envy itself is dumb, in wonder lost, 

And factions strive who shall applaud him most* 

Dice un loro famoso poeta se ben mi ricordo* 
Ed ecco come un poeta Italiano, quel medesimo 
Lazzarini che ho nominato da principio, ha pit- 
torescamente attegiato la medesima invidia. 

Bello il veder dalV una parte vinta 

U Invidia, e cinta 

Di serpi contro a lei sola rivolte, 

Meditar moite 

Menzogne in vano, e poi restarle in gola 

U empia parola, 

Cotesta maggior dose di pittura dir6 cosi ch' en- 
tra nella nostra poesia e forse uno effetto anch' essa 
della dilicatezza, ed irritabilita della fibra delle 
nazioni poste sotto climi caldi. Onde sentono, ed 
immaginano piu vivamente delle nazioni setten- 
trionali, pi\i atte per avventura, che noi non siamo, 
a pensare con pazienza, ad analizzare, a penetrare 
sino al fondo delle cose*. In fatti, se fu dato alia 
Grecia di produrre un Omero che e il principe de 
poeti, fu dato all' Inghilterra il produrre un Neu- 
tono padre e sovrano della filosofica famiglia. 



* All this comparative criticism seems rather in- 
genious than true. The count might have found, 
in another part of the Paradise Lost, a description 
of this very Eve more particularised and picturesque; 
and two allegorical figures of Sin and Death, full 
as strongly featured as the Envy of Lazzarini. 
Spenser would, in almost every page of his Fairy 
Queen, have produced him pictures as boldly 
imagined and peculiarly marked as are to be met 
with in the writings of any more southern poet. 



NOTES. 505 

Comunque sia di cio P una cli queste poesie chiamare 
si potrebbe logica, grafica l'altra. In questo se- 
condo genere io porrei la poesia del Signor Gray, 
il quale benche nato verso il Polo, uguaglia i piti 
caldi poeti, che sorsero pift vicini al sole. II 
verbum ardens di Cicerone, words that burn, che 
egli nella prima oda adatta a Dryden, bene si puo 
appropriare, per la vivacita della espressione, a 
lui medesimo : e cosi ancora quei, thoughts that 
breathe ; del che egli £ cortese all' istesso poeta. 

From Helicon's harmonious springs 
A thousand rills their mazy progress take : 
The laughing flowers, that round them blow, 
Drink life and fragrance as they flow. 

Quel bera dei fiori vita e fragranza dalle acque 
di Elicona, spira tale soavita, che uno crede respirar 
veramente la dojce aria dello Elicona medesimo. 
Vivissima e la pitxura del pargoletto Shakspeare, 
che tende le tenerelle mani e sorride alia natura 
che gli svela il reverendo suo sembiante, e dipoi 
gli fa dono di quelle auree chiavi, che hanno virtu 
di schiudere le porte del riso, e la sacra fonte del 
simpatico pianto. Non pu6 essere piu poetica la 
ragione ch' egli fabbrica della cecita del Miltono, il 
quale; oltrepassati i fiammanti confine dello spazio 
e del tempo, ebbe ardire di fissare lo sguardo cola 
dove gli angioli stessi paventano di rimirare ; e gli 
occhi suoi affuocati in quel pelago di luce si chiu- 
sero tosto in una notte sempiterna. Con qual 
bravura non ha egli imitato la grandiosa immagine 
di Pindaro nella prima delle Pitiche, quando di- 
pinge il re degli augelli, I' aquila ministra del 
fulmine di Giove vinta anch' essa dalla forza dell' ar- 
monia ? E non si vedon eglino in quel bel verso, 

Where'er she turns the Graces homage pay 

espressi quei due di Tibullo ? 

Illam qutdquid agat, quoquo vestigia flectat, 
Componit furtim, subsequiturque decor, 

Z 



506 NOTES. 

Pieno degli spirit! de piil nobili antichi autori 
non mette gia egli il piede nelle loro pedate ; ma 
francamente cammina col garbo, e eon la disin- 
voltura di quelli. Superiore di gran lunga al eon- 
cettoso Cowley, il quale nella lirica avea tenuto 
sinora il campo, ben egli dovea vendicar la causa 
della poesia contro alia ferita di quell' Odoardo, 
che, soggiogata la Wallia, vi spense il gen til seme 
dei poeti, i quali animando i loro compatrioti a 
belle imprese, erano i successori, si puo dire, degli 
antichi Druidi, e gli antecessori del medesimo 
Gray. Con qualforza con quale ardore nol fa 
egli acceso della sacra fiamma dell' estro e della 
liberta ? Troppo lungo io sarei se esprimer le volessi 
il piacere di che mi e stata cagione la varieta gran- 
dissima d' immagini ch' egli ha saputo fare entrare 
nel vaticinio che contro alia razza di Odoardo ful- 
mina il poeta Wallese. La dir6 bene all' orecchio 
che quel vaticinio mi sembra di gran lunga supe- 
riore al vaticinio di Nereo sopra lo eceidio di Troia . 
Dico all' orecchio, perche non vorrei avere contro 
di me la plebe de letterati. Troppo ella si scan- 
dalizzerebbe all' udire che a una fattura di dieciotto 
secoli fa se ne voglia preferire una de' nostri giorni, 
che non ha avuto il tempo di far la patina che 
hanno fatto le cose dei Greci e dei Latini. JEolio 
carmine nobilis il Signor Gray si pu6 chiamare a 
ragione Brit anna fidicen lyrce : ed io mi rallegro 
sommamente con esso lei, che la patria sua vanti 
presentemente, e in uno de'suoi amici, un poeta, 
che non la cede a niuno di quegli antichi, 

Che le Muse lattar piu cYC altri mai. 



. 



NOTES, 50? 



ODE V. 



1. This highly-finished Ode, which Mr. Gray en- 
titled the * Progress of Poesy/ describes its power 
and influence as well as progress, which his ex- 
planatory notes at the bottom of the page point 
out, and this with all the accuracy of metaphy- 
sical precision, disguised under the appearance 
o€ Pindaric digression. On the first line of it 
he gave, in his edition, the following note : 
* Pindar styles his own poetry, with its musical 
accompaniments, 

' A)oKr})g /LLoKTTYif'AioKt^sg yogbou, Aio\\$u>v ttvcou 

' iEolian song, iEolian strings, the breath of the 
jEolian flute.' 

It will seem strange to the learned reader, that 
he thought such explanation necessary, and he 
will be apt to look on it as the mere parade of 
Greek quotation ; but his reason for it was, that 
the Critical Reviewers had mistaken his meaning 
(see note on let. 26, sect. 1, of the Memoirs), 
and supposed the Ode addressed to the Harp of 
^Eolus ; which they said * was altogether uncer- 
tain and irregular, and therefore must be very 
ill adapted to the dance.' See Epode i. 1. 1. 
This ridiculous blunder, which he did not think 
proper openly to advert on, led him to produce 
his Greek quotations, that they might chew on 
them at their leisure ; but he would hardly have 
done this, had not the reception his ode met 
with made him abate, not only of respect to his 
critics, but to his readers in general. See his 
own note. 



508 NOTES. 

2. Awake, iEolian lyre, awake.—Stanza 3. 1. 1. 

IMITATION. 

Awake, my glory: awake, lute and harp. 

David's Ps. G. 

VARIATION. 

In his manuscript it originally stood, 
Awake, my lyre : my glory, wake. 

And it would have been lucky for the above-men- 
tioned critics, if it had been thus printed. 

3. Perching on the sceptred hand.— Antist. 1. 1. 8. 

This description of the Bird of Jupiter, Mr. Gray, 
in his own edition, modestly calls, * a weak imi- 
tation of some incomparable lines in the first 
Pythian of Pindar;' but if they are compared 
with Mr. Gilbert West's translation of the above 
lines (though far from a bad one) their superior 
energy to his version will appear very conspi- 
cuous. 

Perch'd on the sceptre of th' Olympian King, 
The thrilling darts of harmony he feels ; 

And indolently hangs his rapid wing, 

While gentle sleep his closing eyelid seals, 

And o'er his heaving limbs in loose array, 

To ev'ry balmy gale the ruffling feathers play. 

Here, if we except the second line, we find no 
imagery or expression of the lyrical cast. The 
rest are loaded with unnecessary epithets, and 
would better suit the tamer tones of elegy. 

West's Pindar, vol. i. p. 85. 

4. Glance their many-twinkling feet. — Ep. 1.1. 11. 

IMITATION. 

Motpfxotpvyoig S^HtTO 7TC§6jv' 3"«U;Ua£e Be Svptf. 
Homer Od. 0. G. 



NOTES. 509 

5. Slow melting strains their Queen's approach 

declare. 
This and the five flowing lines which follow are 
sweetly introduced by the short and unequal 
measures that precede them : the whole stanza 
is indeed a master-piece of rhythm, and charms 
the ear by its well-varied cadence, as much as the 
imagery which it contains ravishes the fancy. 
* There is' (says our author, in one of his manu- 
script papers) ' a tout ensemble of sound, as 
well as of sense, in poetical composition, always 
necessary to its perfection. "What is gone before 
still dwells upon the ear, and insensibly har- 
monizes with the present line, as in that succes- 
sion of fleeting notes which is called Melody.' 
Nothing can better exemplify the truth of this 
fine observation than his own poetry. 

6. The bloom of young desire and purple light of 

love.— Ep. i. 1. 17. 



I, 



^IMITATION. 

Aaju.7rei.$ e7r) Tzroptyvplvjai 
TloLpsiYjcri <p£>g epwTog. 

Phrynichus apud Athenaeum. G. 

Till down the eastern cliffs afar 
Hyperion's march they spy, and glittering shafts 
of war. — Stanza <l. 1. 11 and 12. 

IMITATION. 

Or seen the morning's well-appointed star 
Come marching up the eastern hills afar. 

Cowley. G. 

8. In climes beyond the solar road.— Antist. ii. 1. 1. 

IMITATION. 
Extra anni solisque vias Virgil. 



510 NOTES. 

Tutta lontana dal camin del sole. 

Petrarch .Canzon ii. G. 

Q. Far from the sun and summer-gale. 

Stanza 3. 1. 1. 

An ingenious person, who sent Mr. Gray his re- 
marks anonymously on this and the following 
Ode, soon after they were published, gives this 
stanza and the following a very just and well ex- 
pressed eulogy : ' A poet is perhaps never more 
conciliating than when he praises favourite pre- 
decessors in his art. Milton is not more the pride 
than Shakspeare the love of their country : it is, 
therefore, equally judicious to diffuse a tender- 
ness and a grace through the praise of Shak- 
speare, as to extol in a strain more elevated and 
sonorous the boundless soarings of Milton's epic 
imagination.' The critic has here well noted 
the beauty of contrast which results from the 
two descriptions; yet it is further to be ob- 
served, to the honour of our poet's judgment, that 
the tenderness and grace in the former does not 
prevent it from strongly characterizing the three 
capital perfections of Shakspeare's genius; and 
when he describes his power of exciting terror 
(a species of the sublime) he ceases to be diffuse, 
and becomes, as he ought to be, concise and 
energetical. 

10. He pass'd the flaming bounds of place and 

time. — Antist. iii. 1. 4. 

IMITATION. 

Flammantia masnia mundi. — Lucretius. G. 

11. The living throne, the sapphire-blaze. 

Antist. iii. 1. 5. 

IMITATION. 

For the spirit of the living creature was in the 



XOTES. 511 

wheels, and above the firmament that was over 
their heads, was the likeness of a throne, as the 
appearance of a sapphire stone — this was the ap- 
pearance of the glory of the Lord. 

Ezekiel i. CO, 26, 28. G. 

12. Closed his eyes in endless night. 

Antist. iii. 1. 8. 



IMITATION. 

'O^aA^wv fJ.\v olasftrs' 8«8ou S' r^hav ao<8^v. 
Homer Od. G. 

This has been condemned as a false thought, and 
more worthy of an Italian poet than of Mr. 
Gray. Count Algarotti, we have found in his 
letter to Mr. How, praises it highly; but as he 
was an Italian critic, his judgment, in this point, 
will not, perhaps, by many, be thought to over- 
balance the objection. The truth is, that this 
fiction of the cause of Milton's blindness is not 
beyond the bounds of poetical credibility, any 
more than the fiction which precedes it con- 
cerning the birth of Shakspeare; and therefore 
would be equally admissible, had it not the pecu- 
liar misfortune to encounter a fact too well 
known : on this account the judgment revolts 
against it. Milton himself has told us, in a 
strain of heart-felt exultation (see his Sonnet to 
Cyriac Skynner), that he lost his eye-sight 

overply'd 

In Liberty's Defence, his noble task; 
Whereof all Europe rings from side to side ; 

And, when we know this to have been the true 
cause, we cannot admit a fictitious one, however 
sublimely conceived, or happily expressed. If, 
therefore, so lofty and unrivalled a description 
will not atone for this acknowledged defect, in 
relation to matter of fact, all that the impartial 



512 NOTES. 

critic can do is to point out the reason, and to 
apologize for the poet, who was necessitated by 
his subject to consider Milton only in his poetical 
capacity. 

Since the above note was published, Mr. Brand, 
of East-Dereham, in Norfolk, has favoured me with 
a letter, in which he informs me of a very similar 
hyperbole extant in a MS. Commentary upon 
Plato's Phaedon, written by Hermias, a christian 
philosopher, of the second century, and which is 
printed in Bayle's Dictionary (Art. Achilles). It 
contains the following anecdote of Homer : — * That 
keeping some sheep near the tomb of Achilles, he 
obtained, by his offerings and supplications, a sight 
of that hero ; who appeared to him surrounded 
with so much glory that Homer could not bear the 
splendor of it, and that he was not only daz- 
zled, but blinded by the sight.' The ingenious 
gentleman makes no doubt but Mr. Gray took his 
thought from this passage, and applauds him for 
the manner in which he has improved upon it: he 
also thinks in general, ' that a deviation from hi- 
storical truth, though it may cast a shade over the 
middling beauties of poetry, produces no bad effect 
where the magnificence and brilliancy of the images 
entirely fill the imagination ;' and with regard to 
this passage in particular, he intimates, ' that as 
the cause of Milton's blindness is not so well known 
as the thing itself, the licence of poetical invention 
may allow him to assign a cause different from the 
real fact.' However this may be, the very exact 
resemblance, which the two thoughts bear to one 
another, will, I hope, vindicate Mr. Gray's from 
being a modern concetto in the taste of the Italian 
school, as it has been deemed to be by some critics. 
But this resemblance will do more; (and it is on 
this account chiefly that I produce, and thank the 
gentleman for communicating it) it will prove the 
extreme uncertainty of deciding upon poetical imi- 



NOTES. 513 

iations ; for I am fully persuaded that Mr. Gray 
had never seen, or at least attended to, this Greek 
fragment. How scrupulous he was in borrowing 
even an epithet from another poet, many of his 
notes on this very Ode fully prove. And as to the 
passage in question, he would certainly have cited 
it, for the sake of vindicating his own taste by clas- 
sical authority, especially when the thought had 
been so much controverted. 

13. With necks in thunder clothed, and long-re- 
sounding pace.— Antist. iii. 1. 12. 

IMITATION. 

Hast thou clothed his neck with thunder ? — Job. 

This verse, and the foregoing, are meant to ex- 
press the stately march and sounding energy of 
Dryden's rhymes. G. 

14. Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn, 

Ep. iii. 1. 4. 

IMITATION. 

Words that weep, and tears that speak. 

Cowley. G. 

15. That the Theban eagle bear.— Ep. iii. 1. 9. 

&iog vipog opvtx* S - ^°' / « — Olymp. ii. 
Pindar compares himself to that bird, and his 
enemies to ravens that croak and clamour in vain 
below, while it pursues its flight, regardless of their 
noise. G. 

16. The critic, above quoted, concludes his remarks 
on this ode, which he had written after his ob- 
servations on the Bard, in a manner which ac- 
counts, in my opinion, for the superior pleasure 
that it has given to him, and also to the gene- 
rality of readers. e I quit,' says he, « this ode 
with the strongest conviction of its abundant 

Z2 



514 NOTES. 

merit; though I took it up (for this last at- 
tentive perusal), persuaded that it was not a little 
inferior to the other. They are not the trea- 
sures of imagination only that have so copiously 
enriched it : it speaks, but surely less feelingly 
than the Bard (still my favourite), to the heart. 
Can we in truth be equally interested for the 
fabulous exploded gods of other nations (cele- 
brated in the first half of this ode), as by the 
story of our own Edwards and Henrys, or allu- 
sions to it ? Can a description, the most perfect 
language ever attained to, of tyranny expelling 
the muses from Parnassus, seize the mind equally 
with the horrors of Berkley Castle, with the 
apostrophe to the tower ? 
' And spare the meek usurper's holy head ! 
* 1 do not mean, however, wholly to decry fabulous 
subjects or allusions, nor more than to suggest 
the preference due to historical ones, where hap- 
pily the poet's fertile imagination supplies him 
with a plentiful choice of both kinds, and he 
finds himself capable of treating both, according 
to their respective natures, with equal advan- 
tage.' 

17. It will not surely be improper at the conclu- 
sion of this ode, so peculiarly admirable for the 
musical flow of its numbers, to mention one cir- 
cumstance relative to English lyric poetry in 
general, and much to its honour, which has lately 
been communicated to me by an ingenious friend. 
It is this:— 'That it can fully, at least when in 
the hands of such a master, support its harmony 
without the assistance of music. For there is 
great reason to believe, that in the Greek ode, of 
which we are taught to think so highly, the power 
of numbers was little perceived without the ef- 
fectual aid of a musical accompaniment. And 
we have in proof of this supposition the express 
testimonies of Cicero and Quintilian. The first, 



NOTES. 515 

in his Orator (a finished performance, and of 
which he speaks himself in the highest terms, 
ep. fam. vi. 18.) , makes the following observation : 
* Sed in versibus res est apertior : quamquam 
etiam a modis quibusdam, cantu remoto, soluta 
esse videatur oratio, maximeque id in optimo 
quoque eorum poetarum, qui Avpiyo) a Graecis 
nominantur: quos cum cantu spoliaveris, nuda 
paene remanet oratio.' — Orator. No. 183. — He 
gives a farther instance from the poets of his 
own country, which I do not here cite as any ad- 
ditional proof of the point in question, but as 
the clearest illustration of his meaning in the 
foregoing quotation. ' Quorum similia sunt 
qusedam etiam apud nostros : velut ilia in 
Thyeste, 

Quemnam te esse dicam ? qui tarda, in senectute : 

Et quae sequuntur : qua?, nisi ciim tibicen acces- 
sit, orationi sunt soluta? simillima.' — Ibid. — The 
second testimony, that of Quintilian, is also full 
to our present purpose. ( Poetas certe legendos 
Oratori futuro concesserint : num. igitur hi sine 
Musice ? at si quis tam cascus animi est, ut de 
aliis dubitet; illos certe, qui carmina ad lyram 
composuerunt.' — Quintilianus, lib. 1. cap. 17.— 
Here we see, that, whatever might be the case 
with some other kinds of poetry, in the ode the 
want of an accompanying lyre could not be dis- 
pensed with. 

' Thus then, if we rely on these classical autho- 
rities, stood the Greek ode; claiming, in the ex- 
hibition of a beauty so essential to its perfection, 
the kind assistance of an inferior art : while the 
lyrics of Mr. Gray, with the richness of imagery 
and the glow of expression, breathe also the 
various modulations of an intrinsic and inde- 
pendent melody. 

' For this singular advantage, so little known or 
considered, we are certainly indebted to rhyme ; 



516 NOTES. 

and, whatever opinion may be formed of its use- 
in other kinds of poetry, we may eonclude from 
hence that it is a necessary support to the har- 
mony of our ode.' 



ODE VI. 



. I promised the reader, in the Memoirs (see a 
note between the 20th and 21st Letter, Sect. 4.), 
to give him, in this place, the original argument 
of this capital ode, as its author had set it down 
on one of the pages of his common-place book. 
It is as follows : ( The army of Edward I. as they 
march through a deep valley, are suddenly stopped 
by the appearance of a venerable figure seated 
on the summit of an inaccessible rock, who, 
with a voice more than human, reproaches the 
king with all the misery and desolation which he 
had brought on his country ; foretells the mis- 
fortunes of the Norman race, and with pro- 
phetic spirit declares, that all his cruelty shall 
never extinguish the noble ardour of poetic 
genius in this island ; and that men shall never 
be wanting to celebrate true virtue and valour 
in immortal strains, to expose vice and infamous 
pleasure, and boldly censure tyranny and op- 
pression. His song ended, he precipitates him- 
self from the mountain, and is swallowed up by 
the river that rolls at its foot.' Fine as the con- 
clusion of this ode is at present, I think it would 
have been still finer, if he could have executed 
it according to this plan ; but unhappily for his 
purpose, instances of English poets were wanting. 
Spenser had that enchanting flow of verse which 
was peculiarly calculated to celebrate Virtue and 



NOTES. 517 

Valour ; but he chose to celebrate them, not 
literally, but in allegory. Shakspeare, who had 
talents for every thing, was undoubtedly capable 
of exposing Vice and infamous Pleasure ; and 
the drama was a proper vehicle for his satire : 
but we do not ever find that he professedly made 
this his object; nay, we know that, in one ini- 
mitable character, he has so contrived as to 
make vices of the worst kind, such as cowardice, 
drunkenness, dishonesty, and lewdness, not only 
laughable, but almost amiable; for with all 
these sins on his head, who can help liking 
Falstaff? Milton, of all our great poets, was the 
only one vjho boldly censured Tyranny and Op- 
pression: but he chose to deliver this censure, 
not in poetry, but in prose. Dry den was a mere 
court parasite to the most infamous of all courts. 
Pope, with all his laudable detestation of cor- 
ruption and bribery, was a Tory ; and Addison, 
though a Whig and a fine writer, was unluckily 
not enough of a poet for his purpose. On these 
considerations Mr. Gray was necessitated to 
change his plan towards the conclusion: hence 
we perceive, that in the last epode he praises 
Spenser only for his allegory, Shakspeare for 
his powers of moving the passions, and Milton 
for his epic excellence. I remember the ode 
lay unfinished by him for a year or two on this 
very account; and I hardly believe that it would 
ever have had his last hand but for the circum- 
stance of his hearing Parry play on the Welch 
harp at a concert at Cambridge (see Letter xxv. 
Sect, iv.), which he often declared inspired him 
with the conclusion. 
2. Mr. Smith, the musical composer and worthy 
pupil of Handel, had once an idea of setting this 
ode, and of having it performed by way of sere- 
nata or oratorio. A common friend of his and 
Mr. Gray's interested himself much in this de- 
sign, and drew out a clear analysis of the ode, 



518 NOTES. 

that Mr. Smith might more perfectly understand 
the poet's meaning. He conversed also with Mr. 
Gray on the subject, who gave him an idea for 
the overture, and marked also some passages in 
the ode in order to ascertain which should be re- 
citative, which air, what kind of air, and how 
accompanied. The design was, however, not 
executed ; and therefore I shall only (in order to 
give the reader a taste of Mr. Gray's musical 
feelings) insert in this place what his sentiments 
were concerning the overture. ' It should be so 
contrived as to be a proper introduction to the 
ode; it might consist of two movements, the 
first descriptive of the horror and confusion of 
battle, the last a march grave and majestic, but 
expressing the exultation and insolent security of 
conquest. This movement should be composed 
entirely of wind instruments, except the kettle- 
drum heard at intervals. The da capo of it 
must be suddenly broke in upon, and put to si- 
lence by the clang of the harp in a tumultuous 
rapid movement, joined with the voice, all at 
once, and not ushered in by any symphony. 
The harmony may be strengthened by any other 
stringed instrument ; but the harp should every 
where prevail, and form the continued running 
accompaniment, submitting itself to nothing but 
the voice.' 

3. Ruin seize thee, ruthless King. — Strophe 1.1. I. 

On this noble exordium, the anonymous critic 
before-mentioned thus eloquently expresses his 
admiration : * This abrupt execration plunges 
the reader into that sudden fearful perplexity 
which is designed to predominate through the 
whole. The irresistible violence of the prophet's 
passions bears him away, who, as he is unpre- 
pared by a formal ushering in of the speaker, is 
unfortified against the impressions of his poetical 
phrensy, and overpowered by them, as sudden 



NOTES. 519 

thunders strike the deepest.' All readers of taste, 
I fancy, have felt this effect from the passage ; 
they will be well pleased, however, to see their 
own feelings so well expressed as they are in this 
note. 

4. They mock the air with idle state. 

Strophe 1. 1. 4. 

IMITATION. 

Mocking the air with colours idly spread. 

Shaks. King John. G. 

5. Such were the sounds, that o'er the crested pride. 

Strophe 1. 1. 9. 

IMITATION. 

The crested adder's pride. 

Dryden's Indian Queen. G. 

6. Loose his beard, &c. — Antist. i. 1. 5. 

The image was taken from a well-known picture of 
Raphael, representing the Supreme Being in the 
vision of Ezekiel : there are two of these paint- 
ings, both believed to be originals, one at Flo- 
rence, the other in the Duke of Orleans's col- 
lection at Paris. G. 

Mr. Gray never saw the large Cartoon, done by the 
same divine hand, in the possession of the Duke 
of Montagu, at his seat at Boughton, in North- 
amptonshire, else I am persuaded he would have 
mentioned it in this note. The two finished pic- 
tures abroad (which I believe are closet-pieces) 
can hardly have so much spirit in them as this 
wonderful drawing; it gave me the sublimest 
idea I ever received from painting. Moses 
breaking the tables of the law, by Parmegiano, 
was a figure which Mr. Gray used to say came 
still nearer to his meaning than the picture of 
Raphael. 



^20 NOTES. 

7. Dear, as the light that visits these sad eyes, 
Dear, as the ruddy drops that warm my heart. 
Ep. i. 1. 12 and 13. 

IMITATION. 

As dear to me as are the ruddy drops, 
That visit my sad heart. 

Shaks. Julius Caesar. G. 

3. No more I weep, &c. — Ep. i. 1. 15. 

Here, says the anonymous critic, a vision of tri- 
umphant revenge is judiciously made to ensue, 
after the pathetic lamentation which precedes it. 
Breaks — double rhymes — an appropriated cadence 
—end an exalted ferocity of language forcibly 
picture to us the uncontrollable tumultuous 
workings of the prophet's stimulated bosom. 

9. Weave the warp, &c.~-Strophe 2. 1. 1. 

Can there be an image more just, apposite, and 
nobly imagined than this tremendous tragical 
winding-sheet? In the rest of this stanza the 
wildness of thought, expression, and cadence are 
admirably adapted to the character and situation 
of the speaker, and of the bloody spectres, his as- 
sistants. It is not indeed peculiar to it alone, 
but a beauty that runs throughout the whole 
composition, that the historical events are briefly 
sketched out by a few striking circumstances, in 
which the poet's office of rather exciting and di- 
recting, than satisfying the reader's imagination, 
is perfectly observed. Such abrupt hints, re- 
sembling the several fragments of a vast ruin, 
suffer not the mind to be raised to the utmost 
pitch, by one image of horror, but that instan- 
taneously a second and a third are presented to 
it, and the affection is still uniformly supported. 

Anon. Critic. 

10. Fair laughs the morn, &c. 



NOTES. 521 

It is always entertaining, and sometimes useful, to 
be informed how a writer frequently improves on 
his original thoughts; on this account I have 
occasionally set down the few variations which 
Mr. Gray made in his lyrical compositions. 
The six lines before us convey, perhaps, the 
most beautiful piece of imagery in the whole 
ode, and were a wonderful improvement on those 
which he first wrote ; which, though they would 
appear fine in an inferior poet, are infinitely 
below those which supplanted them. I find 
them in one of his corrected manuscripts as 
follow. 

VARIATION. 

Mirrors of Saxon truth and loyalty, 
Your helpless old expiring master view ! 
They hear not: scarce Religion dares supply 
Her mutter'd requiems, and her holy dew. 
Yet thou, proud boy, from Pomfret's walls shall 

send 
A sigh, and envy oft thy happy grandsire's end. 

1 1 . Fill high the sparkling bowl. 

Epode ii. 1. 1. &c. 

This stanza (us an ingenious friend remarks) has 
exceeding merit. It breathes in a lesser com- 
pass, what the ode breathes at large, the high 
spirit of lyric enthusiasm. The transitions are 
sudden and impetuous; the language full of 
fire and force; and the imagery carried, without 
impropriety, to the most daring height. The 
manner of Richard's death by famine exhibits 
such beauties of personification, as only the 
richest and most vivid imagination could supply. 
From thence we are hurried, with the wildest 
rapidity, into the midst of battle ; and the 
epithet kindred places at once before our eyes 
all the peculiar horrors of civil war. Irame- 



522 NOTES. 

diately, by a transition most striking and unex- 
pected, the poet falls into a tender and pathetic 
address; which, from the sentiments, and also 
from the numbers, has all the melancholy flow, 
and breathes all the plaintive softness, of elegy. 
Again the scene changes; again the Bard rises 
into an allegorical description of carnage, to 
which the metre is admirably adapted : and the 
concluding sentence of personal punishment on 
Edward is denounced with a solemnity, that 
chills and terrifies. 

12. No more our long-lost Arthur we bewail. 

All hail, ye genuine Kings, Britannia's Issue, 
hail!— Strophe 3. 1. 13 and 14. 

VARIATION. MS. 

From Cambria's thousand hills a thousand 

strains 
Triumphant tell aloud, another Arthur reigns. 

13. Girt with many a Baron bold, 
Sublime their starry fronts they rear. 

Ant. iii. 1. 1, ?. 

VARIATION. MS. 

Youthful Knights, and Barons bold, 
With dazzling helm, and horrent spear. 

14. Fierce War, and faithful Love.— Ep. iii. 1. 2. 

IMITATION. 

Fierce wars and faithful loves shall moralize 
my song. 
Spenser's Procme to the Fairy Queen. G. 

15. I cannot quit this and the preceding ode with- 
out saying a word or two of my own concerning 
the obscurity which has been imputed to them, 
and the preference which, in consequence, has 
been given to his Elegy. It seems as if the per- 



NOTES. 523 

sons who hold this opinion suppose that every 
species of poetry ought to be equally clear and 
intelligible : than which position nothing can be 
more repugnant to the several specific natures of 
composition, and to the practice of ancient art. 
Not to take Pindar and his Odes for an example 
(though what I am here defending were written 
professedly in imitation of him), I would ask, 
Are all the writings of Horace, his Epistles, Sa- 
tires, and Odes equally perspicuous? Amongst 
his Odes, separately considered, are there not 
remarkable differences of this very kind ? Is the 
spirit and meaning of that which begins, * De- 
scende coelo, et die, age, tibia,' Ode 4. lib. 3. so 
readily comprehended as * Persicos odi, puer, ap- 
paratus ?' Ode 38. 1. 1. And is the latter a finer 
piece of lyrical composition on that account ? Is 
■ Integer vitae, scelerisq; purus,' Ode 22. 1. 1. su- 
perior to ' Pindarum quisquis studet a?mulari,' 
Ode 2. 1. 4. because it may be understood at the 
first reading, and the latter not without much 
study and reflection? Now, between these odes, 
thus compared, there is surely equal difference, in 
point of perspicuity, as between the Progress of 
Poesy, and the Prospect of Eton ; the Ode on the 
Spring, and the Bard. But, say these objectors, 
s The end of poetry is universally to please. Ob- 
scurity, by taking off from our pleasure, destroys 
that end.' I will grant that, if the obscurity be 
great, constant, and unsurmountable, this is cer- 
tainly true ; but if it be only found in particular 
passages, proceeding from the nature of the sub- 
ject and the very genius of the composition, it 
does not rob us of our pleasure, but superadds a 
new one which arises from conquering a dif- 
ficulty ; and the pleasure which accrues from a 
difficult passage when well understood, provided 
the passage itself be a fine one, is always more 
permanent than that which we discover at the 
first glance. The lyric Muse, like other fine 



524 NOTES. 

ladies, requires to be courted, and retains her 
admirers the longer for not having yielded too 
readily to their solicitations. This argument 
ending as it does', in a sort of simile, will, I am 
persuaded, not only have its force with the in- 
telligent readers (the 2TNETOI), but also with 
the men of fashion; as to critics of a lower 
class, it may be sufficient to transcribe, for their 
improvement, an unfinished remark, or rather 
maxim, which I found amongst our author's 
papers ; and which he probably wrote on occa- 
sion of the common preference given to his 
Elegy. ' The Gout de Comparaison (as Bruyere 
styles it) is the only taste of ordinary minds. 
They do not know the specific excellency either 
of an author or a composition: for instance, 
they do not know that Tibullus spoke the lan- 
guage of Nature and Love; that Horace saw 
the vanities and follies of mankind with the 
most penetrating eye, and touched them to the 
quick; that Virgil ennobled even the most com- 
mon images by the graces of a glowing, melo- 
dious, and well-adapted expression ; but they do 
know that Virgil was a better poet than Horace ; 
and that Horace's Epistles do not run so well as 
the Elegies of Tibullus.' * * * 



NOTES. 525 



ODE VII. 

i 

This ode, to which, on the title, I have given the 
epithet of irregular, is the only one of the 
kind which Mr. Gray ever wrote ; and its being 
written occasionally, and for music, is a suf- 

' ficient apology for the defect. Exclusive of this, 
(for a defect it certainly is), it appears to me, in 
point of lyrical arrangement and expression, to 
be equal to most of his other odes. It is re- 
markable that, amongst the many irregular odes 
which have been written in our own language, 
Dryden's and Pope's, on St. Cecilia's Day, are 
the only ones that may properly be said to have 
lived. The reason is (as it is hinted in a note 
on Let. 20. Sect. 4. of the Memoirs) that this 
mode of composition is so extremely easy, that 
it gives the writer an opening to every kind of 
poetical licentiousness : whereas the regularly 
repeated stanza, and still more the regular suc- 
cession of strophe, antistrophe, and epode, put 
so strong a curb on the wayward imagination, 
that when she has once paced in it, she seldom 
chooses to submit to it a second time. It is 
therefore greatly to be wished, in order to stifle 
in their birth a quantity of compositions, which 
are at the same time wild and jejune, that re- 
gular odes, and these only, should be deemed 
legitimate amongst us. 

The Cambridge edition (published at the expense 
of the University) is here followed ; but I have 
added at the bottom of the page a number of ex- 
planatory notes, which this ode seemed to want, 
still more than that which preceded it ; especially 
when given not to the University only, but the 



526 NOTES. 

public in general, who may be reasonably sup- 
posed to know little of the particular founders 
of different colleges and their history here al- 
luded to. For the sake of uniformity in the 
page, I have divided the ode into stanzas, and 
discarded the musical divisions of recitative, 
air, and chorus ; but shall here insert them in 
order, according as the different stanzas were set 
by Dr. Randal, Professor of Music. 

Stanza l. The first eight lines 'air,' the four last 
' chorus.' 

Stanza 2. ' Recitative' throughout, but accom- 
panied at the sixth line. 

Stanza 3. ' Air.' 

This stanza, being supposed to be sung by Milton, 
is very judiciously written in the metre which 
he fixed upon for the stanza of his Christmas- 
hymn. 

'Twas in the winter wild, &c. 

Stanza 4. « Recitative' throughout, the last nine 

lines accompanied. 
Stanza 5. * Air Quartette' The musical reader 

will easily see and admire how well 

this stanza is suited to that species of 

music. 
Stanza 6. First six lines 'recitative;' the rest of 

the stanza, beginning at 'thy liberal 

heart,' 'air.' 
Stanza 7. ' Recitative' throughout. 
Stanza 8. ♦ Grand chorus,' and well suited for 

that purpose. 



NOTES. 527 



ODE VIII. 

. The occasion of Mr. Gray's writing (for it may 
be rather called so than versifying this and the 
three following odes, however closely he has 
done them) is given in the beginning of the 5th 
section of the Memoirs, and his reason for first 
publishing them in the 57th letter of the 4th. 
Their best comment, since it is the best illus- 
tration of their excellency, will be to insert here 
the Latin versions of the originals from whence 
they were taken ; as it is probable that many 
readers, who have hitherto admired them as 
compositions, have not compared them with 
those literal versions for want of having the books 
(which are not common ones) at hand. 

. Ex Orcadibus Thormodi Torfiei. Hafnias, 1697^ 

Late diffunditur 
Ante stragem futuram 
Sagittarum nubes : 
Depluit sanguis : 
Jam hastis applicatur 
Cineracea 
Tela virorum, 
Quam arnicas texunt 
Rubro subtegmine 
Randveri mortis. 

Texitur hasc tela 
Intestinis humanis, 
Staminique strict^ alligantur 
Capita humana, 
Sunt sanguine roratas 
Hastas pro insilibus, 
Textoria instrumenta ferrea, 



NOTES. 

Ac sagittae pro radiis : 
Densabimus gladiis 
Hanc victorise telam. 

Prodeunt ad texendum Hilda, 
Et Hiorthrimula, 
Sangrida, et Swipula ; 
Cum strictis gladiis ; 
Hastile frangetur, 
Scutum diffindetur, 
Ensisque 
Clypeo illidetur. 

Texamus, texamus 
Telam Darradar ! 
Hunc (gladium) rex juvenis 
Prius possidebat. 
Prodeamus, 
Et cohortes intremus, 
Ubi nostri amici 
Armis dimicant ! 

Texamus, texamus 
Telam * Darradi ; 
Et regi deinde 
Deinde adhaereamus ! 
Ibi videbant 
Sanguine rorata scuta 
Gunna et gondula, 
Qua? regem tutabantur. 

Texamus, texamus 
Telam Darradi ! 
Ubi arma concrepant 



* So Thormodus interprets it, as though Dar- 
radar were the name of the person who saw this 
vision ; but in reality it signifies a range of spears, 
from daur hasta, and radir ordo. G. 



NOTES. 529 

Bellacium virorum. 
Non sinamus eum 
Vita privari : 
Habent Valkyrias 
Caedis potestatem. 

Illi populi terras regent, 
Qui deserta promontoria 
Antea incolebant. 
Dico potenti regi 
Mortem imminere. 
Jam sagittis occubuit comes ; 

Et Hibernis 
Dolor accidet, 
Qui nunquam 
A pud viros delebitur. 
Jam tela texta est. 
Campus verd (sanguine) roratus ; 
Terras percurret 
Conflictus militum. 

Nunc horrendum est 
Circumspicere, 
Cum sanguinea nubes 
Per aera volitet : 
Tingetur aer 
Sanguine virorum, 
Antequam vaticinia nostra 
Omnia coriuant. 

Bene canimus 
De rege juvene, 
Victoriae carmina multa : 
Bene sit nobis canentibus. 
Discat autem ille, 
Qui auseultat, 
Bellica carmina multa, 
Et viris referat. 



530 NOTES. 

Equitemus in equis, 
Quoniara efferimus gladios strictos 
Ex hoc loco. 

In the argument of this ode, printed at the bottom 
of the page in this edition, it is said that the 
battle was fought on Christmas-day; on which 
Mr. Gray, in his manuscript, remarks, that * the 
people of the Orkney islands were Christians, 
yet did not become so till after A. D. 966 ; pro- 
bably it happened in 995 : but though they, and 
the other Gothic nations, no longer worshipped 
their old divinities, yet they never doubted of 
their existence, or forgot their ancient mytho- 
logy, as appears from the history of Olaus Tryg- 
gueson.' See Bartholinus, lib. viii. c. i. p. 6l£. 

3. Iron-sleet of arrowy shower. — L. 3. 

IMITATION. 

How quick they wheel'd ; and flying, behind 

them shot 
Sharp sleet of arrowy shower. 

Mil. Par. Regained. G . 

4. Hurtles in the darken'd air. — L. 4. 

IMITATION. 

The noise of battle hurtled in the air. 

Shaks. Jul. Caes. G. 



NOTES. 531 



ODE IX. 



1= The Vegtams Kvitha, from Bartholinus, lib. iii. 
c. ii. p. 632. 

Surgebat Odinus, 

Virorum summus > 

Et * Sleipnerum 

Ephippio stravit. 

Equitabat deorsum 

Niflhelam versus. 

Obviam habuit catellum 

Ab Helse habitaculis venientem ; 

Huic sanguine aspersa erant 
Pectus anterius, 
Rictus, mordendi avidus, 
Et maxillarum infima : 
Allatrabat ille, 
Et rictum diduxit 
Magiae patri, 
Et diu latrabat* 

Equitavit Odinus 
(Terra subtus tremuit) 
Donee ad altum veniret 
Helae habitaculum. 
Turn equitavit Odinus 
Ad orientale ostii latus, 
Ubi fatidicse 
Tumulum esse novit. 



• Sleipner was the horse of Odin, which had 
eight legs. Vide Edda. 



532 NOTES. 

Sapienti carmina 
Mortuos excitantia cecinit, 
Boream inspexit, 
Literas (tumulo) imposuit, 
Sermones proferre ccepit, 
Responsa poposcit, 
Donee invita surgeret, 
Et mortuorum sermonem proferret. 

Fatidica. Quisnam hominum 
Mihi ignotorum 
Mihi faeere praesumit 
Tristem animam ? 
Nive eram, et 
Nimbo aspersa, 
Pluvi&que rorata : 
Mortua diu jacui. 

Odin us. Viator nominor, 
Bellatoris filius sum. 
Enarra mihi, quae apud Helam geruntur: 
Ego tibi quae in mundo. 
Cuinam sedes auro strata? sunt, 
Lecti pulchri, 
Auro ornati ? 

F. Hie Baldero medo 
Paratus extat, 
Purus potus, 
Scuto superinjecto : 
Divina vero soboles 
Dolore afficietur. 
Invita haec dixi, 
Jamque silebo. 

O. Noli, fatidica, tacere. 
Te interrogare volo, 
Donee omnia novero. 
Adhuc scire volo, 
Quisnam Baldero 



NOTES. 533 

Necem inferet, 
Ac Odini filium 
Vita privabit ? 

F. Hodus excelsum fert 
Honoratum fratrem illiic. 
Is Baldero 
Necem inferet, 
Et Odini filium 
Vita privabit. 
Invita hsec dixi, 
Jamque tacebo. 

O. Noli tacere, fatidica, 
Adhuc te interrogare volo, 
Donee omnia novero. 
Adhuc scire volo, 
Quisnam Hodo 
Odium rependet, 
Aut Balderi interfectorem 
Occidendo rogo adaptet ? 

F. Rinda filium pariet 
In habitaculis occidentalibus : 
Hie Odini filius, 

Unam noctem natus, armis utetur ; 
Manum non lavabit, 
Nee caput pectet, 
Antequam rogo imponet 
Balderi inimicum. 
Invita haec dixi, 
Jamque tacebo. 

O. Noli tacere, fatidica, 
Adhuc te interrogare volo. 
Quaenam sint virgines, 
Quae prae cogitationibus lachrymantur, 
Et in ccelum jaciunt 
Cervicum pepla ? 
Hoc solum mihi dicas, 
Nam prius non dormies. 



534 NOTES. 

F. Non tu viator es, 
Ut antea credidi ; 
Sed potius Odinus, 
Virorum summus. 

O. Tu non es fatidica, 
Nee sapiens fcemina, 
Sed potius trium 
Gigantum mater. 

JP. Equita domura, Odine, 
Ac in his gloriare : 
Nemo tali modo veniet 
Ad sciscitandum, 
Usque dum Lokus 
Vinculis solvatur, 

Et Deorum crepusculum \ 

Dissolventes aderint. 

2. Hela's drear abode. — L. 4. 

Hela, in the Edda, is described with a dreadful 
countenance, and her body half flesh-colour and 
half blue. G. 

3. Him the Dog of Darkness spied. — L. 5. 

The Edda gives this dog the name of Managarmar ; 
he fed upon the lives of those that were to die. 

4. The thrilling verse that wakes the dead.— 'L. 24. 

The original word is vallgaldr; fiomvalr mortuus, 
and galdr incantatio. G. 

Thrilling is surely in this place a peculiarly fine 
epithet. 

5. Tell me what is done below.— L. 40. 

Odin, we find both from this ode and the Edda, was 
solicitous about the fate of his son Balder, who 
had dreamed he was soon to die. The Edda 



- NOTES. 535 

mentions the manner of his death when killed 
by Odin's other son Hoder ; and also that Hoder 
was himself slain afterwards by Vali the son of 
Odin and Rinda, consonant with this prophecy. 

6. Once again my call obey. 
Prophetess, &c. — L. 51. 

Women were looked upon by the Gothic nations as 
having a peculiar insight into futurity ; and some 
there were that made profession of magic arts and 
divination. These travelled round the country, 
and were received in every house with great 
respect and honour. Such a woman bore the 
name of Volva Seidkona or Spakona. The dress 
of Thorbiorga, one of these prophetesses, is de- 
scribed at large in Eirick's Rauda Sogu, (apud 
Bartholin, lib. i. cap. iv. p. 688). She had on a 
blue vest, spangled all over with stones, a neck- 
lace of glass beads, and a cap made of the skin of 
a black lamb lined with white cat-skin. She 
leaned on a staff adorned with brass, with a round 
head set with stones, and was girt with an Hun- 
landish belt, at which hung her pouch full of 
magical instruments. Her buskins were of rough 
calf-skin, bound on with thongs studded with 
knobs of brass, and her gloves of white cat- skin, 
the fur turned inwards, &c. G. 

They were also called Fiolkyvgi, or Fiol-kunnvg ; 
i.e. Multiscia: and Visindakona ; i. e. Oraculo- 
rum Mulier, Nornir ; i. e. Parcae. G. 

7. What virgins these.— L. 75. 

These were probably the Nornir rr Parcas, just^now 
mentioned; their names were Urda, Verdandi, 
and Skulda; they were the dispensers of good 
destinies. As their names signify time past, pre- 
sent, and future, it is probable they were always 
invisible to mortals : therefore when Odin asks 
this question on seeing them, he betrays himself 



536 NOTES. 

to be a god ; which elucidates the next speech of 
the prophetess. 

8. Mother of the giant-brood.— L. 86. 

In the Latin < Mater trium gigantum.' He means, 
therefore, probably, Angerbode, who, from her 
name, seems to be * no prophetess of good,' and 
who bore to Loke, as the Edda says, three 
children ; the Wolf Fenris, the great Serpent of 
Midgard, and Hela, all of them called giants in 
that wild but curious system of mythology; 
with which, if the reader wishes to be acquainted, 
he had better consult the translation of M. Mal- 
let's Introduction to the History of Denmark 
than the original itself, as some mistakes of eon- 
sequence are corrected by the translator. The 
book is entitled, ' Northern Antiquities.' Printed 
for Carnan, 1770, 2 vols. 8vo. 



ODE X. 



Mr. Gray entitles this ode, in his own edition, a 
Fragment; but from the prose version of Mr. 
Evans,- which I shall here insert, it will appear 
that nothing is omitted, except a single hyper- 
bole at the end, which I print in italics. 

1'anegyric upon Owain Gwynedd, Prince of North 
Wales, by Gwalchmei, the son of Melir, in the 
year 1157*. 



* See Evans's Specimen of Welch Poetry, p. 25, 
and for the original Welch, p. 127. 



NOTES. 537 

1. I will extol the generous hero, descended from 
the race of Roderie, the bulwark of his country ; 
a prince eminent for his good qualities, the glory 
of Britain, Owen the brave and expert in arms, 
a prince that neither hoardeth nor coveteth 
riches. 

2. Three fleets arrived, vessels of the main ; three 
powerful fleets of the first rate, furiously to at- 
tack him on the sudden : one from Jwerddon * ; 
the other full of well-armed Lochlynians f, making 
a grand appearance on the floods ; the third from 
the transmarine Normans, which was attended 
with an immense, though successless toil. 

3. The Dragon of Mona's sons was so brave in 
action, that there was a great tumult on their 
furious attack ; and before the prince himself 
there was vast confusion, havoc, conflict, honour- 
able death, bloody battle, horrible consternation, 
and upon Tal Malvre a thousand banners ; there 
was an outrageous carnage, and the rage of 
spears and hasty signs of violent indignation. 
Blood raised the tide of the Menai, and the 
crimson of human gore stained the brine. There 
were glittering cuirasses, and the agony of gash- 
ing wounds, and the mangled warriors prostrate 
before the chief, distinguished by his crimson 
lance. Lloegria was put into confusion ; the 
contest and confusion was great ; and the glory 
of our prince's wide-wasting sword shall be ce- 
lebrated in an hundred languages to give him 
his merited praise. 



* Ireland. t Danes and Normans. 



A A£ 



538 NOTES, 



ODE XI. 

From the extract of the Gododin, which Mr. Evans 
has given us in his * Dissertatio de Bardis,' in 
the forementioned book, I shall here transcribe 
those particular passages which Mr. Gray selected 
for imitation in this ode, 

1. Si mihi liceret vindictam in Deirorum populum 

ferre, 
;Eque ac diluvium omnes un& strage prostrarem> 

2. Amicum enim amisi incautus, 
Qui in resistendo firmus erat. 

Non petiit magnanimus dotem a socero 
Filius Ciani ex strenuo Gwyngwn ortus. 

;>. Viri ibant ad Cattraeth, et fuere insignes, 

Vinum et mulsum ex aureis poculis erat eorum 
potus. 

Trecenti et sexaginta tres aureis torquibus in- 
signiti erant; 

Ex iis autem, qui nimio potu madidi ad bellum 
properabant, 

Non evasere nisi tres, qui sibi gladiis viam mu- 
niebant ; 

Scilicet bellator de Acron, et Conanus Dacarawd, 

Et egomet ipse (scilicet Bardus Aneurinus) san- 
guine rubens : 

Aliter ad hoc carmen compingendum non su- 
perstes fuissem. 

Whoever compares Mr. Gray's poetical versions of 
these four lyrical pieces with the literal trans- 
lations which I have here inserted, will, I am 
persuaded, be convinced that nothing of the kind 
' was ever executed with more fire, and at the 



NOTES. 539 

same time, more judgment. He keeps up through 
them all the wild romantic spirit of his originals ; 
elevates ■ them by some well-chosen epithet or 
image where they flag, yet in such a manner as 
is perfectly congruous with the general idea of 
the poems ; and if he either varies or omits any 
of the original thoughts, they are only of that 
kind which, according to our modern sentiments, 
would appear vulgar or ludicrous : two instances 
of this kind occur in the latter part of this last 
ode. How well has he turned the idea of the 
fourth line : ■ Ex iis qui nimio potu madidi !' 
and the conclusion, * Aliter ad hoc carmen com- 
pingendum,' &c. The former of which is ridi- 
culous ; the latter insipid. 

4. I find amongst Mr. Gray's papers a few more 
lines taken from other parts of the Gododin, 
which I shall here add with their respective Latin 
versions. They may serve to show succeeding 
poets the manner in which the spirit of these 
their ancient predecessors in the art may best be 
transfused into a modern imitation of them. 

Have ye seen the tusky boar, 
Or the bull, with sullen roar, 
On surrounding foes advance ? 
So Caradoc bore his lance. 

Quando ad bellum properabat Caradocus, 

Filius apri silvestris qui truncando mutilavithostes, 

Taurus aciei in pugnas conflictu, 

Is lignum (i. e. hastam) ex manu contorsit. 

Conan's name, my lay, rehearse, 
Build to him the lofty verse, 
Sacred tribute of the bard, 
Verse, the hero's sole reward. 
As the flame's devouring force ; 
As the whirlwind in its course ; 



540 NOTES. 

As the thunder's fiery stroke, 
Glancing on the shiver'd oak ; 
Did the sword of Conan mow 
The crimson harvest of the foe. 

Debitus est tibi cantus qui honorem assecutus es 

maximum, 
Qui eras instar ignis, tonitrui, et tempestatis, 
Viribus eximie, eques bellicose, Rhudd Fedel, bel- 

lum meditaris. 



SONNET. 



If what Boileau says be true in his ' Art Poetique/ 
that 

Un sonnet sans defauts vaut seul un long poeme — 
the merit of this little poem is decided. It is 
written in strict observance of those strict rules, 
which the poet there lays down. Vide * Art 
Poetique, Chant, ii. 1. 82.' Milton, I believe, 
was the first of our English poets who exactly 
followed the Italian model: our author varies 
from him only in making the rhymes in the two 
first quartetts alternate, which is more agreeable 
to the English ear than the other method of ar- 
ranging them. 



NOTES. 511 



EPITAPH I. 



VARIATION. MS 

1. After line 6, in the place of the four next — 

To hide her cares her only art, 
Her pleasure, pleasures to impart. 
In ling'ring pain, in death resign'd, 
Her latest agony of mind 
Was felt for him, who could not save 
His all from an untimely grave. 

2. Whom what awaits, &c— L. 11. 

The construction here is a little hard, and creates 
obscurity, which is always least to he pardoned 
in an epitaph. 



EPITAPH II. 

This is as perfect, in its kind, as the foregoing 
sonnet. Sir. William Williams, in the expedition 
to Aix, was on hoard the Magnanime with Lord 
Howe ; and was deputed to receive the capitu- 
lation. 



542 NOTES. 



ELEGY, 

WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD. 

1. The most popular of all our author's publica- 
tions ; it ran through eleven editions in a very 
short space of time; was finely translated into 
Latin by Messrs. Ansty and Roberts ; and in the 
same year another, though I think inferior, 
version of it was published by Mr. Lloyd. The 
reader is informed, in the Memoirs, of the time 
and manner of its first publication. He originally 
gave it only the simple title of « Stanzas, written 
in a Country Church-yard.' I persuaded him 
first to call it an Elegy, because the subject au- 
thorised him so to do; and the alternate mea- 
sure, in which it was written, seemed peculiarly 
fit for that species of composition. I imagined 

" too that so capital a poem, written in this measure, 
would, as it were, appropriate it in future to 
writings of this sort ; and the number of imi- 
tations which have since been made of it (even 
to satiety) seem to prove that my notion was 
well founded. In the first manuscript copy of 
this exquisite poem, I find the conclusion dif- 
ferent from that which he afterwards composed; 
and though his after-thought was unquestionably 
the best, yet there is a pathetic melancholy in 
the four rejected stanzas, which highly claims 
preservation. I shall therefore give them as a 
variation in their proper place. 

2. The knell of parting day. — L. 1. 



IMITATION. 

■ squilla di lontano 



Che paia '1 giorno pianger, che si muore. 

Dante Purg. 1. 8. G, 



NOTES. 543 

3, Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife. 

Line 73. 

VARIATION. 

The thoughtless world to majesty may bow, 
Exalt the brave, and idolize success ; 
But more to innocence their safety owe, 
Than pow'r, or genius, e'er conspired to bless. 

And thou, who mindful of th' unhonour'd dead, 
Dost in these notes their artless tale relate, 
By night and lonely contemplation led 
To wander in the gloomy walks of fate : 

Hark ! how the sacred calm, that breathes around, 
Bids every fierce tumultuous passion cease ; 
In still small accents whispering from the ground, 
A grateful earnest of eternal peace. 

No more, with reason and thyself at strife, 
Give anxious cares and endless wishes room ; 
But through the cool sequester'd vale of life % 
Pursue the silent tenor of thy doom. 

And here the poem was originally intended to con- 
clude, before the happy idea of the hoary-headed 
swain, &c. suggested itself to him. I cannot 
help hinting to the reader, that I think the third 
of these rejected stanzas equal to any in the 
whole Elegy. 

4. Ev'n in our ashes live their wonted fires.—- L. 92. 

IMITATION. 

Ch' i veggio nel pensier, dolce mio fuoco, 
Fredda una lingua, et due begli occhi chiusi 
Rimaner doppo noi pien di faville. 

Petrarch. Son. 169. G. 

VARIATION. 
Awake and faithful to her wonted fires. 



544 NOTES. 

Thus it stood in the first and some following 
editions, and I think rather better; for the au- 
thority of Petrarch does not destroy the ap- 
pearance of quaintness in the other : the thought, 
however, is rather obscurely expressed in both 
readings. He means to say, in plain prose, that 
we wish to be remembered by our friends after 
our death, in the same manner as when alive we 
wished to be remembered by them in our ab- 
sence: this would be expressed clearer, if the 
metaphorical term fires was rejected, and the 
line ran thus : 

Awake and faithful to her first desires. 

I do not put this alteration down for the idle vanity 
of aiming to amend the passage, but purely to 
explain it. 

5. To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. — L. 100. 



VARIATION. 

On the high brow of yonder hanging lawn. 






After which, in his first manuscript, followed this 
stanza : 

Him have we seen the greenwood side along, 
While o'er the heath we hied, our labour done, 
Oft as the woodlark piped her farewell song, 
With wistful eyes pursue the setting sun. 

I rather wonder that he rejected this stanza, as it 
not only has the same sort of Doric delicacy, 
which charms us peculiarly in this part of the 
poem, but also completes the account of his 
whole day: whereas, this evening scene being 
omitted, we have only his morning walk, and 
his noontide repose. 

6. Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn. 

Line 116. 



NOTES. 545 

Between this line and the Epitaph Mr. Gray originally 
inserted a very beautiful stanza, which was 
printed in some of the first editions, hut after- 
wards omitted; because he thought (and in my 
own opinion very justly) that it was too long a 
parenthesis in this place. The lines however are, 
in themselves, exquisitely fine, and demand pre- 
servation. 

There scatter'd oft, the earliest of the year, 
By hands unseen are show'rs of violets found ; 
The redbreast loves to build and warble there, 
And little footsteps lightly print the ground. 

7. There they alike in trembling hope repose. 

L. 127. 

IMITATION. 



■ paventosa speme. 

Petrarch. Son. 1 14. 



THE END, 



LONDON: 
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